


all we do is drive

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It doesn’t make <i>sense</i>, the way Louis can have such an effect on him. From one look, or one stupid bet, Harry’s now street racing, apparently. He hates it. Doesn’t know how to control it, every time he sees Louis looking at him - it comes like an impulse. Without a second thought. No rhyme or real reason to it. He’s just <i>Louis</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all we do is drive

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know what to say. i finally finished this. IT'S FINALLY DONE.
> 
> first and most important, this fic is for [rafa](tofiveohfive.tumblr.com/), who's rich kids tag gave me the whole idea for this. she's one of the best people i know, and this entire thing is for her. i love you.
> 
> second, this would not exist if it not for amber. she told me about cars, what to add what not to add, everything. she held my hand while i whined and cried this entire way. also amy and annie and clare, for talking out scenes, listening to me, beta-ing, looking it over. they are truly the three i could not live without, and i'm eternally grateful. also effy for holding my hand constantly and always understanding this fic more than i do a lot of the time.
> 
> also natasha and leighanne, the true loves of my life, for yelling at me to write. and for looking this over and fixing things and telling me i'm not the worst. and maya for reading it over, and being encouraging.

_harry_.

Styles and Tomlinson. Two names everyone’s heard of, though generally not in the same sentence. 

Sworn enemies, as the saying goes. The only time they share a headline is when something happens; a feud, or lawsuit. “It’s a messy world out there,” Harry’s dad always tells him. “You’re bound to make some enemies along the way.”

And that’s what Harry grew up knowing. The world is a ruthless place, in business there’s no space for emotions, nothing but a goal in mind. He can remember from a very young age, learning that very clearly. The only pay-off was the money.

His father’s go-to is alcohol. Since his parents split, Harry’s only ever known his dad to have a glass of scotch in his hands. Neat.

He’s had his father’s drink memorized since he could walk.

Right now, he’s at the unveiling of a new model. They’ve been planning this for weeks, as is usual with most events; just another one to tick off the list. 

For the most part, people seem to like it - the car, not the event, though they seem to like that too. But Harry doesn’t come to listen to rave reviews. He gets another rum and coke from the bar. Thank God for open bars, he thinks, taking a sip.

His dad’s surrounded by a group of people, face pulled into a wide smile, laughing at something someone’s said. He's perfected the art of faking it, Harry likes to think. Can charm anyone within minutes of meeting them, while managing to coerce them into a buying a brand new car, all in the course of an hour or so. 

Now, though, is his time to shine. Show off what he’s made, all the planning and effort that went into his next model. Just means this one will pay for his next vacation for Christmas - said he was planning to go back to Cabo, this time.

Des Styles is a man true to his word, and Harry’s never seen him go back on it.

“Didn’t think you’d be here.” Harry turns, seeing one of the models for their agency, Kendall, eyeing him.

Harry smirks, shrugging. “Decided to fit it into my schedule.”

Kendall looks at him. “Well, if you get bored. You know where to find me.”

With a wave she’s off, Harry watching her go. Chances are he’ll have nothing to do in the next couple of hours. He’s done all of the required talking to his father’s partners and customers. The standard, “How are you, Harry?”, “How’s school?, “Ready to take over this empire, next?”

He’ll find her later, Harry tells himself, taking another sip. He’s done school now, and needs to find ways to occupy himself.

Ways that aren’t attending his father’s events, and spending long days in an office building where he doesn’t do much of anything, as his mother said. Even before their divorce, she’d never been very keen on the whole ‘car thing,’ as she likes to call it.

She lives in San Francisco, with her new husband, Robin. Harry opted for staying with his father, with hot Los Angeles and its long beaches. It made sense to him then; he visits her on holidays and birthdays, when required, and San Fran isn’t that bad. Or so he tells himself, anyway.

“Did you see who’s here?”

Harry turns to see Niall beside him. “Who?” he asks.

“Tomlinson.” Niall jerks his head toward the door, and sure enough, there he is. Wearing jeans and a band tee, of all things. Harry snorts into his glass. “Just walked in with his usual sidekick.”

“Payne?” Harry asks. Niall nods. “Didn’t think they’d crash this one. Seemed a little cliched for their tastes.”

When he glances up, his dad is looking at them. With a nod, Harry walks over toward him. “Tell him to leave,” he tells Harry firmly, lips pressed into a thin line. That usually means he’s pissed.

“Already on it,” Harry assures him.

Des nods, letting Harry go. Niall’s still with him, walking alongside, as they make their way toward Louis.

“Thought you’d have better things to do on a Friday night, Tomlinson. Haven’t you been at the The Vault a lot recently?” 

Louis looks over at him, grinning. “What, didn’t like that I showed up? I thought your invitation was serious when you mailed it to me. With a special seal on the envelope and everything.”

“Isn’t all that special, to be honest,” Harry says. “Just a little dab of a special gift from between my legs, that’s all.”

To his credit, Louis doesn’t even flinch. It makes things a bit more fun, dealing with someone who isn’t afraid of what Harry can dish out. “For me? You shouldn’t have.”

“Thought it would be worth it. Going to have to ask you to leave, though. You and your -” He glances at Liam, who hasn’t said a word in this entire exchange, “special friend to go. Hi, Liam. Always nice seeing you.”

He looks at Harry, unsure if he should smile or not. “Harry.” 

It’s not Liam Harry hates anyway. 

Louis pouts, arms crossed over his chest, “But I dressed up and _everything_.”

Neither Niall or Liam follow when Harry takes a step toward Louis, “Funny, looks like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Picked a shirt that wasn’t wrinkled. Count yourself lucky, Styles,” Louis says.

“Only going to ask you nicely. Once,” Harry says.

“Must be nice,” Louis starts, lips curled into a smile, “Being the one your dad can make do anything. Fetch him coffee, kick people out of their own events. Who have a formal invitation, might I add.”

“Anything else before you go? Or can I show you out,” Harry asks, jaw set.

“An upstanding son, ready to take on his father’s company. Must make you so proud, knowing that you’re being groomed for this. Doesn’t that bore you, Styles? Knowing you were born with one single purpose?”

“Get the fuck out,” Harry says, firmly. “ _Now_.”

“Alright, alright. I got the fucking hint,” Louis says, putting up his hands. “Don’t get your fucking panties in a twist.”

“Always lovely to see you, Tomlinson."

“If you ever want to, you know. Get out of this place, give me a call. Take me for a ride in that Mercedes you outbid me on at that auction a few weeks back,” Louis offers, mimicking holding a phone to his ear. 

“Door’s over there,” Harry says.

With one final look, Louis and Liam leave. Once the door closes, Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

After a beat of silence, Niall says, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a thing for him.”

Harry turns his head. “What the fuck, Horan.” 

“You know, the whole ‘mortal enemies’ thing. Could work for you two."

“Do I have to kick you out as well?” Harry asks, tone sharp.

“Jesus, calm down. I was just _saying_ ,” Niall says.

“All Tomlinson does is give me a massive fucking headache,” Harry says. 

Niall hums, but doesn’t say anything else on the subject as they make their way back toward the bar. Harry orders another rum and coke, and doesn’t think about it anymore.

He isn’t a product of his father’s fucked up future, all planned out for him. He’s got his own life, and his own wants. Not just stuck in some office, coming up with cars for people to drive that aren’t himself.

\- 

When Harry wakes up the next morning, his dad’s already gone to work. As is the typical routine -- he’s gone before Harry’s even awake, most days.

Gives Harry an excuse to walk around in nothing but a pair of boxers, hair a mess and making himself coffee before doing anything else. The paper’s already laid out on the table, open to the Business section, as per his father’s morning ritual.

Harry thumbs along the front page, skimming. It’s nearly half past eleven, but considering he went to bed sometime around three in the morning, this is early. 

Nick texted, asking if he wanted to come around later. He’s having a party of some kind, by the looks of it. Harry'll probably go, since there’s nothing better to do. His father doesn’t like when Harry stays home all day, claims that he should be “out in the world, doing his part.” Whatever the fuck that means.

While he pours some milk into his coffee, his phone rings. “Hello?” Harry answers, balancing the phone on his shoulder while trying to get the milk back into the fridge.

“Surprised you’re awake,” comes a familiar voice. “I was half expecting you to be passed out still.”

“I like keeping you surprised,” Harry says. “Any particular reason you’re calling?”

“Thought we could do lunch. If you’re, you know. Around.”

“Can do lunch. Meet you in what, an hour?”

“Hour’s good.”

“See you then,” Harry says, before hanging up. 

He showers and changes into some decent clothes to be seen out in public in. He decides somewhere along there he’s taking the Audi R8 that day, because why the fuck not, really. Which still just mostly means pants and a shirt, but whatever. Taking his phone and wallet, Harry pushes a pair of sunglasses on top of his head, making his way out the door.

His car’s waiting in the garage below. One of the few perks of having a father that owns an entire car company is there are always a few to go around.

It only takes him about twenty minutes to get into the city, less traffic than usual. He grips the steering wheel, pressing his foot down onto the gas while going through a green light.

The ‘usual place’ is small, with seating outside on a patio, and a chicken club he likes. 

She’s waiting for him by the time he gets through the door. “Always on time,” Harry says, pulling her into a hug.

Taylor laughs, quietly. “I was already in the city, by the time I called.”

Harry rolls his eyes, following her to their table. “Probably already ordered for me too, didn’t you.”

“Would I be me if I didn’t?” Taylor sits in the chair across from Harry, putting her phone into her bag.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. It’s hot out today; the air humid, making his shirt feeling like it’s sticking uncomfortably to his chest. There’s people walking along the street, having their own conversations as Harry shifts, putting his sunglasses over his eyes. 

Lunch goes as usual, their food arriving a little while later. 

“How was the event last night?” Taylor asks.

Harry shrugs. “The usual. Until fucking Tomlinson showed up.”

Taylor smirks. Harry decidedly doesn’t comment on it. “And?" she asks. "Did you give him a tour of the place?”

“I wasn’t exactly in a hospitable mood,” Harry says, rolling his eyes.

“He can’t be that bad,” Taylor says.

Harry frowns at her. “So, what. You’re defending him now?”

She shakes her head, taking a sip of her iced tea. Harry can see the stain of her lipstick on the glass; red, her signature colour. “Not defending him. Just _saying_.”

“Anyway,” Harry says, changing the topic. “How was Ed’s show?”

By the time they’re done, Harry’s walked Taylor to her car and is on his way back to his own when his phone goes off, again.

 _Meet me at the office in half an hour._ His dad.

Harry sighs, opening the front door and getting inside. Looks like he’s good and fucked for the rest of the day, and he’s barely been awake for two hours.

Lovely.

He pulls out onto the street, already trying to brace himself for whatever his dad has planned for him. Just as he pulls up to a light it turns red, Harry pressing down onto his brakes abruptly and turning up the radio.

And it’s not like he _knows_ what cars people drive, usually. But when a fucking white ‘07 Subaru STI with blacked-out windows pulls up beside him, Harry knows exactly who’s behind that wheel. Harry doesn’t have enough time to roll up his window without looking like a complete idiot, so he doesn’t. Focuses his gaze straight ahead, hating every part of his life and existence. Of all the fucking stoplights in Los Angeles, he thinks bitterly to himself, he had to pick this one.

Until he hears, “Styles!”

Harry holds back a groan; doesn’t move. Louis, apparently not getting the hint continues, “What do you say we race, me and you? Short and sweet, but lots of passion. Just enough to get us through 'til next time. Whoever loses owes the winner a drink.”

Harry wants to ignore him, but when he finds himself looking over he sees Louis practically hanging out his window, smirking, a manic sort of look in his eyes. 

Without waiting for a response, Louis eases off the clutch - car rolling back, then forward, right up to the line, and revs his engine. It’s loud and obnoxious, like most things Louis does, so this doesn’t really surprise Harry. It pisses him off. Makes him want to rip his steering wheel right off the fucking dashboard of his car.

He hisses out, “Over your dead body, Tomlinson.”

And apparently that’s answer enough, when Harry looks over again Louis still has that fucking smirk on his face - flicking his hair out of his face and turning to look at the road. Glancing over to see the traffic light turn yellow, Louis revs his engine again, loud and practically roaring in Harry’s ears.

He can’t let Louis win. He _can’t_.

Seconds later the light turns green, both cars peeling off from the starting line. It’s reckless and irresponsible and crazy, but Harry’s almost in the lead. He can feel the wheel under his hands, gripping it tight and exhaling slow.

He has no idea how Louis can get this kind of reaction out of him, foot on the gas and the buildings blurring past him. He risks a glance at Louis, since he’s in the lead anyway, just to see - but finds Louis is already looking over at him.

Fuck.

He sees Louis grin again, as if he knows something Harry doesn’t, and that’s what pushes Harry to floor it - the want and need building in his chest. But Louis is faster, by some stroke of stupid fucking luck. Or probably not luck at all, Harry thinks, watching him speed off down the road.

Harry curses to no one in particular, heart racing in his chest when he pulls up in front of his father’s building. That was stupid. Probably one of the top most stupid things he’s ever done, and that’s saying quite a lot.

It doesn’t make _sense_ , the way Louis can have such an effect on him. From one look, or one stupid bet, Harry’s now street racing, apparently. He hates it. Doesn’t know how to control it, every time he sees Louis looking at him - it comes like an impulse. Without a second thought. No rhyme or real reason to it. He’s just _Louis_.

Harry leans his head against the steering wheel in silent defeat, wondering how the fuck he got himself into this.

\- 

“There’s a meeting I want you to sit in on.”

Harry stares at his father from across his office. “I have plans,” he says simply.

His dad laughs, clearly unamused, looking over at him. “Yes, you do have plans. To sit in on this meeting.”

There’s no room for argument. Never is with him, Harry thinks. “Who’s the meeting with,” he asks.

“Some designers, mostly. Discussing new models,” his dad replies, handing Harry a leather folder. Wonderful. This day just keeps improving.

As expected, there’s a bunch of men sitting around a large wooden table in suits when Harry and his father walk in. There’s the formalities, shaking hands and saying their hellos before finally sitting down.

“You all remember my son, Harry,” his father introduces. “He’s going to sit in with us today to give him a feel for what he’s getting into.”

Harry just about chokes on nothing; but forces a smile anyway. His father claps his hands together, more enthusiastic than he was for Harry’s high school graduation, and says, “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Not a minute wasted on Des Styles’ schedule. Not when he’s in charge.

\- 

Harry almost falls asleep three separate times during the meeting. He catches himself each time, thankfully, and by the time they’re finished it’s almost three in the afternoon.

God. 

“Got any plans tonight?” his dad asks, while they’re packing up their things. Harry’s include the leather-bound folder he didn’t make notes in, so it’s not much. 

“Nick invited me over for a thing.”

His dad gives him a look. “You won’t be out too late, right?”

Harry doesn’t look him in the eye. “Course not, dad.”

He nods in approval, before heading back to his office. “See you tonight, then. Whenever you get home.”

He’ll be asleep when Harry actually gets home, but that’s not the point. He’s done his duty as a father. Said his goodbye, added in a cautious ‘be home on time’ warning. All the things parents are supposed to do, Harry thinks to himself in mild amusement. 

Since he won’t be home from the office until after eight, as per the norm, Harry goes home first. Warms himself up some food, and gets dressed for Nick’s party. 

By the time he’s out the door, he’s already running late. Not that this comes as any kind of surprise, because when isn’t Harry late. He makes his way outside, getting into his car.

The place is just about full by the time Harry manages to find a place to fucking park, irritated and tired, opening the front door.

As with the standard Nick Grimshaw affair, the house is packed and the music is loud. A few people say hi to him, standing near the door. It’s the brief small talk, asking how the other is; how things are going. Not that anyone really gives a fuck, but Harry will play along.

With no sign of Niall or Nick, Harry frowns, getting himself a drink. There’s a few beers still left in the fridge, the glass cold in the palm of Harry’s hand as he gets it out.

“You’re late,” Nick’s voice comes from behind him. 

Harry grins, leaning against the counter. “Figured you’ve got so many guests at this thing you wouldn’t notice.”

Nick rolls his eyes, subtly flipping him off where he’s holding his own drink. Something with gin, probably. Harry despises gin. “Niall just won a very big game of beer pong. Shame you weren’t there to see it.”

“I’m sure I’ll get a play by play later,” Harry says, shrugging. “What else you got for me, Grimshaw. I drove all the way out here for stories about beer pong? No fucking way.”

Nick puts a gentle arm around Harry’s shoulders, leading him into the living room, and continues, “As I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted - Cara’s stopped in, as well. When was the last time you saw her?”

“Shit, I don’t even know. Almost a year ago now? Since she left for school,” Harry says, rubbing a hand along his face. “She still here?”

“Somewhere in this horde of people, yes,” Nick says grimly. “They broke that really nice plate set my mom bought me. You know the one.”

“I do,” Harry says, tipping some more of his drink back. 

“Lucky for you, you can babysit Horan, here,” Nick says.

Niall, cheeks flushed from the drinks he’s already had, scoffs. Reaches out a finger and pokes at Harry’s cheek before pressing his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. “You’re so gone, dude,” Harry tells him. Niall simply nods in response.

“Ed’s fault,” he slurs into the fabric of Harry’s shirt.

Nick snorts, “Isn’t it always.”

“I told you never to let him talk you into playing beer pong with him again,” Harry lectures gently, brushing some of Niall’s loose quiff from his forehead. 

They relocate to the couch, after Harry’s gotten Niall some water - which improves things a bit. 

“He’s here,” Niall says a little while later, smirking.

Harry pauses, brows furrowing. “What are you on about, Horan,” he asks.

“Your so-called mortal enemy."

“That clarifies literally nothing."

“Tomlinson,” Nick says, grinning himself.

And, sure enough, when Harry looks - he’s standing across the room. With someone Harry doesn’t know, a guy with dark hair, pressed into Louis’ side. They look very close, is Harry’s first thought.

Whatever.

“You invited him?” Harry asks Nick. "What the fuck.”

“Thought it could make things interesting,” Nick says, picking at his nails. “Just don’t have any hate sex in my bed, please.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Harry groans, putting his hands over his face. “I’m leaving.”

“Not so fast,” Nick says, “Niall can’t be standing right now, don’t think. I’d end up with him face first on the floor.”

“Fine.” Harry crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. 

He stays, if only because he’s a really good fucking friend. He should get an award at least, or something. 

“You’re jealous.”

Nick says this a few minutes later, when Harry’s been listening to Niall go on about the merits of good beer pong skills. Turning his head, he gives Nick a look.

“What are you on about?” Harry asks.

“Louis. You keep glaring over at his pal,” Nick says, pointing a finger.

“Luke,” Niall chimes in.

“Who the fuck is Luke,” Harry asks, narrowing his eyes. “And I’m _not_ jealous.”

“Suit yourself,” Nick says, smug.

“Luke’s one of his friends, from way back. Grew up together, I think,” Niall says.

“How the fuck do you know all this information? Louis’ Wikipedia page?” Harry asks, flicking Niall’s ear.

Nick says, unhelpfully, “He doesn’t have one.”

Harry groans, closing his eyes. This is the worst party ever. He’s got the worst friends ever. And he just wants to go home and sleep and not have to get up at seven in the fucking morning. 

Excusing himself, he goes back into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. The idea of getting completely shitfaced appeals greatly to Harry, as it almost always does, but he’s apparently got an “eight a.m. appointment” with his father and some other businessmen in the morning, which. Doesn’t sound fun at all.

But no one says no to Des Styles, in the end, so there’s no point in resisting it; it’s his future, isn’t it?

Harry takes a water bottle, removing the cap. 

When he turns, unfortunately, there’s Louis. Like a moth to the flame, Harry snaps, “What are you - following me now?”

It feels like there's a knot, sitting heavy in his stomach. He doesn’t know what to _do_ around Louis, pressing his lips into a thin line. But Louis doesn’t seem to notice, leaning against the counter, an amused expression on his face.

“Why of course, Styles,” he says, sarcastic. “It just so happens that I _was_ following you, you caught me. Not trying to get a refill, or anything.”

God. Harry stares at him. Louis doesn’t flinch, not even when Harry takes a step toward him. Followed by another.

Louis does falter a bit, though hardly noticeable. He glares up at Harry and asks, “Are you going to get out of my way?”

Harry steps even closer, the space between them now very limited, but doesn’t take it back. Says, “You could go around.”

But Louis doesn’t move an inch. Harry can feel his breath on his face, hot, and he can’t help noticing how Louis’ face is tilted up toward him - just a bit, but it’s enough.

It’s like Harry’s mind can’t properly form thoughts, his eyes tracking Louis’ eyes when they flicker down his own lips, noticeably, without a hint of subtlety. Finds himself looking down, eyes following to Louis’ lips and, fuck, what the _fuck_ is he doing.

“Stay away from me Tomlinson. I mean it,” Harry says, voice low. Finds it in himself to step away, going out of the kitchen and feeling like his heart is going to pound its way out of his fucking chest.

What a great idea coming here turned out to be, he thinks. He catches up with Cara and talks to her a bit. She’s in art school, loving it, and her face is glowing the entire time she’s talking. Makes Harry wonder if he’ll ever be that happy - before finally helping Niall home.

“When was the last time we did this?” Niall asks, walking along his driveway. 

“The last time I carried your drunk ass home?” Harry jokes.

Niall laughs, muffled where he’s got a hand over his mouth. It’s not really helping to mask anything, but Harry doesn’t tell him that. He’s trying, at least. He gets points for that.

“Thanks, Harry,” Niall tells him, clasping his shoulder.

“Can you get in okay?” Harry asks. Niall nods, opening the front door to his house.

Waiting a few seconds to make sure he doesn’t hear any sort of life-threatening crashes, Harry goes back to his car.

Three thirty. A solid three hours of sleep until he needs to be awake. Fuck his entire existence, honestly; what’s the point if he isn’t allowed to sleep in anymore.

\- 

Meetings are boring. Everything is meaningless; life is pointless. All Harry can focus on is not letting himself fall asleep while the guy - Gary? Fuck, he can’t remember - talks about new airbags being installed in their latest models.

What dreams are fucking made of, truly.

There’s donuts, but Harry doesn’t feel up for eating at this ungodly hour of nine in the morning. He shifts in his chair, making it look as if he’s taking notes. When in reality he’s trying to draw a portrait of every old man at this table, which is proving difficult. His artistic skills are lacking, but no matter.

“Harry? What are your thoughts?”

His dad’s staring at him, waiting. “I think they’re all great,” Harry says simply.

Judging by his father’s face, it wasn’t the right answer. Harry doesn’t add anything else, leaning back in his chair. 

The meeting continues, and Harry’s left trying to find ways to keep himself awake. 

“What the fuck were you doing in there?”

Back in his father’s office is a different story. Harry’s standing on his expensive carpet, watching him pinch the bridge of his nose. That’s never a good sign. 

“Listening about airbags,” Harry says, shrugging. 

“This isn’t the time for your jokes,” Des snaps. 

His office is high up, on the twenty-somethingth floor, with a view Harry’s sure anyone would basically kill for. The sky’s cloudy today, threatening rain. 

“That’s what the meeting was about,” Harry responds, firmer this time. He’s annoyed. And tired. “Can I go now?”

“I don’t think you’re taking what you should from being at these kind of meetings. Do you think I just bring you for some fun? A little Tuesday morning entertainment?”

Harry presses his lips together, hands behind his back. There’s no pictures in his dad’s office, save for the one of Harry and Gemma, years back in the summer, when they’d spent a week at the cottage. His dad hadn’t stayed the whole week, of course, leaving early for work, and Harry can so clearly recall his mother telling him, “If you leave, I’m not coming back.”

Harry remembers watching his dad drive away; when they go home, his mom doesn't follow.

“I’m tired.” 

His dad laughs, looking over at him. Harry wonders if he wants to have that picture there, or if it’s for when the high ups come to see him. Ask him things like, “These your kids? They look lovely,” or, “Look so much like you, Des.”

Fuck that. Harry isn’t some sort of tool to get his father’s company more money.

“Shouldn’t have stayed out so late, then,” his dad says, not looking up.

“I had to help Niall home. I wasn’t going to just let him sit on the sidewalk in front of his house all night,” Harry says.

“I’m done with you today. Clearly you’re not taking this seriously.”

Harry lets a silence settle. He can feel the irritation and anger start under his skin, real and hot. “Do you even remember when that picture was taken?”

Now, his dad looks up, then to the frame. He pauses, then says, “Course I do. When we went camping. You were six.”

“I’m _eight_ in that. It’s the last year we went to the cottage.” Harry leaves, not bothering to wait for the door to close behind him.

By the time Harry gets outside, it’s raining. The walk to his car is short, Harry’s jacket wet around the shoulders as he turns the key in the ignition.

\- 

Harry only owns two suits, as it presently stands. And he hardly wears them. He usually opts for a pair of too-tight jeans and loose fitting expensive shirt for any kind of event.

But his dad prefers suits. He claims they make a man look cleaned up, presentable. Someone who demands respect. Harry thinks it’s all bullshit, but doesn’t call him out on it. 

“Ready to go in five?” his dad asks, sticking his head through Harry’s bedroom door.

Harry grunts, struggling with his tie. That’s answer enough for his dad, who continues down the hallway. 

He doesn’t want to go to this stupid event. It’s one of those black tie affairs, where everyone stands around and talks about a disease none of them know anything about - all with expensive cocktails in their hands while doing so. A waste of time, in Harry’s opinion. If everyone wants to donate to a worthy cause they can do so without the small talk and hors-d'oeuvres on the side. Why have an entire evening for it when all the money could go directly to the cause itself?

But he’s trying to get back on his dad’s good side, after last week’s incident. So Harry’s doing up his tie and talking himself down from the annoyance that he has to actually attend this thing.

By the time he gets down to the garage, the car’s started, and all Harry has to do is get in before him and his dad drive off.

They go in silence, neither of them talking. There’s the sound of the radio playing, quietly, and that’s enough for the both of them. 

“We’ve donated two cars to be driven,” his dad says, pulling up to the curb. Harry gets out, waiting for him to give his keys to the valet before they go inside.

“Sounds about right,” Harry says, hands in his pockets. It feels like he can’t breathe, tie and shirt all buttoned up. 

“So we’ll watch the race first, then the dinner’s after. Think you can handle that?” his dad asks, taking his first drink. 

Harry nods, looking around. Lots of hats, he thinks to himself, trying to find the bar. They are at a race track, so his options are limited. 

Thankfully, they have rum and coke. Harry tips his glass to the man behind the bar, winking at him before taking a sip. The rum is helping. The rum is definitely helping.

“Little early to be drinking, isn’t it?” Niall, ever-present thanks to his parents being in the same business as Harry's dad, has come up beside him.

“Eat my dick,” Harry tells him flatly, staring straight ahead.

“Classy,” Niall snorts, amused. “Kendall’s here. Looking for you, last I heard.”

“Is she already bored to tears by rich kids driving expensive cars around a race track?” Harry asks

“It’s not _that_ boring,” Niall defends.

Eventually, duty-bound, Harry has to make the rounds. Niall promises he’ll still be here by the time Harry’s done, if he makes it out alive. He starts with his dad in one corner of the room, meeting the higher-ups, the one’s who could pay for this entire event two times over.

They ask standard questions, and Harry gives standard answers. His dad smiles beside him, seeming proud, which is how Harry knows he’s in the clear. For now, at least.

“Ah, Harry Styles. Nice to see you here,” says Dan Tomlinson, Louis’ stepdad, approaching him.

Harry feels himself tighten, forcing a smile. “‘Course I’m here. Someone’s got to supervise this event, right?”

It’s not Dan that Harry hates. Well, maybe it is. His company, and his stepson. Harry opts out of saying this. It’s not proper small talk conversation.

“You driving one of those cars? Saw you donated a couple,” Dan asks, raising his eyebrows.

Harry holds back a laugh. “Unfortunately not. Thought I’d give everyone else a chance,” he says.

“Probably for the best. Give your dad my regards, will you?”

Regards. The word repeats in his mind and Harry has to resist the urge to make a gagging sound, “Always do, Dan. You know that.”

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Styles,” Dan says, shaking his hand before walking off.

Harry all but collapses beside the bar.

“Looked nice and cozy with your soon to be father-in-law,” Niall comments.

“Shut up,” Harry snaps, getting himself another drink. “When do they actually drive these fucking things. We’re all standing around, looking like idiots.”

“I don’t look like an idiot,” Niall says. “You, on the other hand -”

Harry cuts him off, pinching his side. Eventually, everyone gathers around, and that’s when the whole event starts, so to speak.

How it usually goes is each large company donates a large sum of money - car and driver, to drive around a track. All the rich people stand around and watch, but it’s not a race. It’s just cars driving around a track. Very simple, and very boring.

Harry hates his life, and cars.

The only real upside is that they don’t have to stand outside. Instead, they all crowd inside this box with big glass windows to watch the cars drive by. Fascinating stuff.

There’s too much ice in his drink. Dilutes it, and Harry hates that; he should’ve asked for less when he’d gone up. 

It takes every ounce of willpower not to groan when the cars start driving out onto the track. He holds his cup in his hand, glancing to his dad just down a row of people - their noses nearly pressed right up against the glass. Harry’s never understood it, this need to watch other people drive. And paying good money for someone else to, no less, he reminds himself.

He’ll never understand it. The whole boring, monotonous ‘drive fast, turn left’ ordeal that has everyone going fucking insane for it at events like this. They’re always on the same track, doing the exact same thing - just with different, more expensive cars than the last time.

“Cheer up,” Niall mutters to him, elbowing his side lightly.

Harry smirks, shaking his head. He braces one arm against the glass, waiting. It’s not a race - never is. Just the drivers going around, showing off with loud squeals of tires and low rumblings of engines. Harry would much rather be back in bed, sleeping.

He pauses, though, watching one car in particular. It’s near the back of the group of them, lagging behind. That changes when it catches up to the rest, no longer wanting to be in the back of the crowd. Harry raises an eyebrow, instantly curious.

They’re an impressive driver, though Harry doesn’t say this out loud. Has seen enough people behind the wheel to know that this person in particular knows what they’re doing. Hits the apex of the turn flawlessly, with the back end of the car fishtailing out into a smoothly angled drift. He presses his lips together, attempting to seem uncaring about the entire - ordeal.

A voice breaks him from that train of thought. “My, Harry. You’ve certainly grown up haven’t you?”

Belinda Clarke is one of his father’s biggest clients. Harry turns to look at her. “And you, Belinda. Never age a day, do you?”

She laughs, cheeks flushing. Harry blinks, knowing that beside him Niall is doing his very best not to laugh. Placing a hand on Harry’s arm she squeezes, once. 

“Always were a sweet talker,” she says. Harry can see her lipstick, smudged along her upper lip. A shade of pink he isn’t all that fond of, he decides. 

“People never do change. Despite what everyone believes,” Harry says, shrugging. Belinda laughs, again, clearly amused.

“Yes, well. Always lovely to see you Harry,” she says, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. Harry nearly shudders, her hand still on his arm. “If you ever need anything, you know you can call me, right?”

Niall just about spits out his mouthful of beer all over the front of himself. “Of course, Belinda," Harry says, ignoring this.

She walks - no, saunters - off, hips swaying - Harry’s fairly sure she’s nearly sixty. Or something close to that. 

“She’s always had a thing for younger guys,” Niall says, wiping beer off his chin.

Harry rolls his eyes, “Shut up. I’m trying to watch these cars, Horan.”

The sun’s bright, coming through the glass. Harry has to squint to almost see properly, watching the track because it’s the most interesting thing he’s got going, right now. And that’s saying a lot.

There’s one car, faster than the others. Going hard on the turns, drifting. Harry pauses, feeling a strange sense of familiarity at the sight of it. 

This goes on for quite some time, the driving bit, much to Harry’s dismay. He gets himself another drink; too much coke, not enough rum.

Niall’s rather into it, eyes focused and every bit into this that Harry is not. 

“Did you see that car - up there? Guy’s fucking nuts,” Niall says, pointing to the car Harry’s had his eye on. 

“Nuts is probably a good term to use,” Harry says, grinning against the rim of his glass.

Unfazed, Niall shrugs. “Really good fucking driver.”

“You can ask him for some tips, afterward. Maybe get an autograph, or a picture,” Harry tells him flatly.

“Fuck off."

This continues for a while. The crowd of people gasping and exclaiming occasionally, all very thrilled and excited. Harry’s bored out of his fucking skull.

Eventually, after this entire thing has carried on for far longer than necessary, the cars come to a stop. And Harry, despite hating himself a little for it, watches one car in particular. Whatever. It’s not a big thing, until the door opens. And out steps - Louis Tomlinson himself. Harry’s going to die. His dick is half hard in his expensive St. Laurent pants, fucking _hell_.

“Well, well, well,” Niall says. Harry’s going to deck him. “If it isn’t your mortal enemy himself.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Harry snaps.

“I bet you have the weirdest boner in your pants.” 

Harry groans. “I don’t have anything in my pants.”

“Be more _obvious_ , Styles. Oh my God,” Niall says, cackling.

Some so-called best friend. Harry hates him. So what if Harry’s half-hard, no one can tell. Especially not Louis, all the way down there - with his helmet hair, grinning and high fiving someone Harry doesn’t know.

Fuck this entire event. And cars. Fuck it all - fucking _fuck_.

The worst part is, possibly, when Harry looks back out the glass again, Louis is staring right at him.

\- 

Unfortunately for Harry, as they say - the show must go on. Even if he did find Louis Tomlinson particularly sexy getting out of a car. Sexy. Since when does Harry even use that kind of language, honestly. 

“Niall.” Harry turns to him before going into the banquet hall for their overpriced dinner. “I need you to do me a favour.”

Niall blinks up at him, wary. “Depends on what it is.”

Harry narrows his eyes at him, “I need you to, like. Beat me to death with whatever expensive meat they’re serving us tonight.”

“I’m not killing you with chicken parmesan,” Niall says, affronted. “There are better ways to go, Styles. You know better than that.”

Harry ignores him and steps through the large, wooden doors. 

It’s the standard setup. Expensive-looking place settings, lights hung throughout the room, that kind of thing. Harry’s bored already, which is no surprise. His place is at one of the far tables in the room, near the window.

Niall’s at the same table, thankfully. Harry continues to go through the usual rounds with his father. Small talk, conversation around the room. 

“You know -” a voice starts behind him, “I didn’t think you’d come to this whole... thing.”

Harry turns and sure enough, there’s Louis. He needs another drink. “Got invited, didn’t I? It’s got food, booze. What more could I want?” Harry asks, looking at him.

Louis’ changed out of whatever racing uniform he’d been wearing at the race tracks, opting now for jeans and an expensive looking button up shirt. 

He’s also wearing Vans, Harry observes silently; really classing it up. 

“You seemed pretty interested at the tracks, earlier,” Louis continues, raising an eyebrow. 

“You must’ve taken my deathly boredom for interest. My apologies,” Harry mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Louis snorts. “Looked like you were enjoying the view.”

“They’re _cars_. Not much of a view to enjoy,” Harry says flatly.

His neck feels hot; he’s going to be found out, Harry thinks in mild panic. For what, he’s a little unclear on - thinking Louis is hot isn’t a crime. He has to keep telling himself that. But getting a boner in his pants while seeing him get out of a car is on the verge of strange, probably.

For a split second Harry imagines how Louis’ hands look on a steering wheel. Curled around it, gripping it tightly. It feels like all the blood starts rushing directly to his dick.

“Whatever you say, Styles. Liam and I are at your table anyway, so I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Louis leans in close, so Harry can see the stubble painted along his jawline, and adjusts Harry’s collar. Harry’s breath catches in his throat. “Save us some rolls, hm?”

Harry manages to get a strangled sound out that could be taken as confirmation, or him two seconds from falling over and dying. Either/or. Louis doesn’t seem all that interested, anyway, walking off.

Someone announces that the dinner will be served in five minutes, as he makes his way back to his table. His palms are sweaty, as if he’s been transported back to seventh grade. 

“Harry,” a familiar voice comes from across the table. Harry looks up and sees Liam, smiling at him. “Are you sitting with us?”

“Would seem that way,” Harry says, watching Liam pull out the chair beside him. And sure enough on the name tag, there it is - _Liam Payne_.

“Did you see us on the track, earlier?” Liam asks. 

Harry nods, “Yeah, you’re a - good driver, you know. Got a good grip on that wheel.”

Liam smiles, shrugging. “Growing up with them, you learn a thing or two, I guess.”

“Yeah."

Niall shows up a few moments later - pulling up a chair beside Harry, Louis not that close behind, seating himself beside Liam, and Harry’s surrounded. No way out.

Caroline Flack is hosting the event, a big name in television and radio; Harry listens, leaning back in his chair as she takes to the stage.

Liam and Louis are chatting beside him, but Harry ignores it. Doesn’t want anything to do with it.

\- 

“Harry, can I have a word?”

Never a good sign. Harry puts down his glass, nodding, “Course, dad.”

They walk out of the dining room, Des’ grip tight on Harry’s arm. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Harry genuinely, for once in his entire life, has no idea what his father is on about. He stops, trying to think of what he could’ve possibly done wrong now, sitting across the room from him at this event.

“What?” Harry asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“Talking to Dan? And Louis? What, are you trying to singlehandedly run this company into the ground?”

“Earlier? Like - before the dinner? We were just, I don’t know, talking. He approached me,” Harry clarifies, but knows there isn’t any real point in doing so. Once his father’s mind is made up, it’s made up.

“Save your talking for another day, you understand me? I can’t believe you’d do this to me, for all my colleagues and everyone else to see.”

Harry, dumbstruck, isn’t sure how to even respond to that. “Right, well. Sorry for letting you down, I guess.”

“Keep a better fucking eye out, you understand me?”

And, without another word, he’s gone. The door shuts behind him, and Harry has no real desire to go back in there, so he stays out here. He finds a chair down the small corridor to the bathrooms and sits.

He braces his elbows on his legs, putting his face into his hands. This entire thing, he decides, is going really well. Spectacularly, one might even say.

He’s not sure how long he’s there until, “Are you - alright?”

Sitting up, Harry sees Louis, a few feet away, looking confused. “Fine. Just - enjoying the festivities, you know.”

“You missed Olly and Niall having a competition to see who can tie a cherry stem with their tongue,” Louis says.

Harry winces. “So, what are you doing out here then? Don’t want to miss all that fun, don’t you?”

Louis sighs, shrugging. “Had to get some air.”

There’s no one else around; just the two of them, here. Harry much prefers it to the packed dining room, but still. It feels strange, in a way. Probably because of the crippling guilt and anger he’s got, courtesy of Des Styles.

“Do you have anything?” Harry finally asks, breaking the silence.

A pause. Then, “What?”

“You know, like. Weed, or something,” Harry continues.

“Trying to get me kicked out of this event? That’s stooping pretty low. Even for you, Styles. Which is saying a lot,” Louis says.

“How would you feel about hot boxing in one of the many expensive cars just outside this building?” Harry asks.

Louis smiles, eyes crinkling when he says, “A man after my own heart.”

\- 

Apparently, Louis knows how to break into cars. If you can count the car Louis had been driving on the track and, as he put it, “Forgot to give the keys back”, some form of a felony. Which Harry doesn’t. Him and Harry are inside now, smoke filling up the small space.

This is better. This, is where Harry feels like he can finally breathe, in an Aventador with Louis. Which is pretty fucked up, considering how small the car is.

His head’s spinning, but heart’s no longer racing. All he can focus on is the way Louis’ fingers flex where he’s holding his phone, locking the screen and looking over at Harry. 

All the car had, music-wise, was a couple of classical albums. They settled on the radio. Louis, apparently, isn’t all that into the classical music genre. 

“So what’s this about, then.” 

Harry looks at Louis. Everything feels like it’s moving at a slower pace. He leans his head back. “Nothing. Just wanted to spend some quality time with you, that’s all.”

Louis snorts, hard. “You’re a shit liar, Styles.”

Harry squints at him, “That’s a lie.”

Louis doesn’t argue. Instead, he takes in another hit off the joint, before releasing the smoke. “This about your dad?”

Harry closes his eyes. Tries to imagine what it would be like, anywhere else. If his mother really found true happiness in the chilly beaches of San Francisco, or if it’s just as fucked up there, as it is here.

He glances over at Louis. Blinks slowly, letting his eyes trace over his features silently. Has never let himself notice the way Louis’ eyelashes look when he glances down, fiddling with the radio. 

He’s certainly something else, Harry thinks. But all he says is, “Don’t know what you’re talking about." When Louis doesn’t respond, he adds, “But kind of, I guess. He’s a bit of a dick.”

“I’ve noticed,” Louis says absently, like this isn’t some big thing. Maybe Harry’s projecting.

“Yeah, well. Everyone’s a dick these days, aren’t they?” Harry asks bitterly.

He notices, after a moment, that Louis' eyes are blue. Harry’s never realized that, in all his years of knowing him. Or - never made a mental note of it, apparently.

Louis’ face softens. “Not all bad, though.”

Harry sighs, ignoring the flutter in his chest when Louis smiles at him. “You know, even with all this. I still don’t really like you quite that much, I gotta say.”

“Liar,” Louis says, nudging Harry’s thigh with his foot.

“Whatever,” Harry mumbles.

“What I would like,” Louis starts, “is to see you try to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.”

“Is this your pick up line?” Harry asks. “Needs some work, Tomlinson.”

Louis laughs, shaking his head. Harry finds himself laughing too, probably too caught up in the moment to stop himself. 

“Shut up,” Louis mumbles moodily, half hearted.

“Make me,” Harry challenges.

They stare at each other, neither of them saying anything. If Harry didn’t know any better he’d say Louis’ eyes flicker down to his lips, once, before going back to his eyes once more.

Louis clears his throat, taking another hit.

\- 

At the end of the night, while Harry’s waiting for his car, Louis pushes out the door. With a cigarette between his lips, he casts a glance toward Harry. “You’re all talk, you know.”

Harry scoffs, loudly. “What are you on about, Tomlinson.”

“You don’t hate me as much as you say you do,” Louis says simply, as if he knows. 

“Got a lot of confidence,” Harry says, watching Louis exhale a mouthful of smoke. “Smoking kills.”

Louis gives him an amused look, “Thank you for that lovely, uplifting message.”

“Thought someone should tell you,” Harry says, shrugging.

With a sigh, Louis turns to face him. “Give me your phone.”

Harry stares at him. When Louis doesn’t back down, he shakes his head. “Why would I do that?”

“Just do it, come on,” Louis urges. 

And, with nothing to lose, Harry hands it over. 

It’s a few seconds until Louis gives it back. There’s no real damage to it, that Harry can see. Wouldn’t be too terribly surprised if he’d used the opportunity to put his number in. “That’s it?” Harry asks.

“Been a great night, Harry. Truly,” Louis says, grinning at him. What looks to be his car pulls up moments later, Liam’s in the driver’s seat, as Louis gets in.

Harry feels his jaw tighten, seeing it. Finds himself surprised Louis would let anyone else drive his car.

As they speed away, Harry’s dad puts appears and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ready to go?”

He’s still pissed at him. Harry can clearly see that, the way his father’s lips are pressed together so tightly, into a thin line. 

Harry nods, seeing Louis’ car pull out onto the road, “Sure.”

\- 

The next week is long, and dull. Mind-numbingly so, in fact, to the point where Harry has taken to hanging out with his father’s assistant - Jessica.

She’s an older lady, has a husband and three kids, with pictures of all of them on her desk. Right now, Harry’s begging her to do some filing for him, since he refuses to set foot in that tiny, dusty room.

“You might be charming like your father -” Jessica starts, shaking her head. Harry grins, “But I am not doing your filing for you.”

Harry sighs, checking his phone. “I was counting on you, Jess.”

She gives him a look. “Jess? My, we got here fast.”

Harry smirks, seeing a text from Ed - he wants to know if Harry wants to attend a show tonight. Texting back asking what time, he looks up just in time to have a pile of paper put in front of him. Harry makes a face, looking at it. “There’s double what my dad gave me this morning.”

“Thought you could do a bit for me, while you’re at it,” Jessica says, winking.

“Fine. But if you leave out my order for this Starbucks run, I’ll be very unhappy,” Harry says, picking up the pile.

God. It weighs almost as much as he does, not to be dramatic. Taking it into the filing room, Harry keeps the door open. It feels less like the beginning of some low-budget murder film, this way.

It’s half an hour until he has to go, anyway, so this is one way he can aimlessly pass the time. His dad’s still in his office, because it’s his second home, and Harry has no way of getting out of here until the clock hits four. 

Trapped, essentially.

Making his way around the different cabinets, he takes out his phone, absently scrolling through it. He texts Niall a picture of an open drawer, the files on top of it.

Niall replies, _Is this a sext ? ;)_

_You know it, Horan. Stepping up my game._

_Idiot ! Come 2 the Show 2nite_

Harry pockets his phone after that, finishing the pile by three fifty-five. An accomplishment, from his perspective. He waves a goodbye to Jessica before heading down to his car.

When he’s just managed to get into the driver’s seat, his phone goes off.

“Hello?” Harry answers, closing his eyes.

“You should come tonight,” Niall starts. Harry groans, loudly. Niall ignores him. “James Bay is like really fucking good. Come on.”

“Fine,” Harry says, turning his key. “I’ll be there by seven.”

Niall, seemingly pleased, tells him a quick bye before hanging up.

-

“Heard you smoked up with Tomlinson the other night?”

Harry just about chokes on his beer. “Where did you hear that?”

Ed eyes him. “Liam told me.”

A group of people push past them; still no sign of Niall, who went to get drinks a few minutes ago. Harry shifts awkwardly, shrugging. 

“Can’t a guy light up once in a while without getting the third degree?”

“I mean, sure. But not when it’s with someone you hate,” Ed says flatly.

“I don’t hate him,” Harry snaps.

“You called him an empty-headed prat with stubs for legs,” Ed continues. Harry winces, taking another drink of his beer. “Bit harsh, in my opinion.”

“Is this guy playing tonight any good?” Harry asks, changing the topic. 

Ed slings an easy arm around his shoulders, pulling Harry in close. “If me and Niall both like him, then you’re set.”

Harry gives him a disbelieving look, but doesn’t question it. The bar is absolutely packed, people having to wait at the doors to even manage getting inside. Not that Harry minds.

Nick’s at their table, waiting impatiently, rolling his eyes when Harry and Ed finally approach. “Niall’s fucked off to who knows where, you two over there for hours -”

“Wasn’t _hours_ ,” Harry cuts him off. Nick continues, “Do you know how many weird hipster types I’ve had to fight back from this table? They’re ruthless, I tell you.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Harry says, “but you are one of those weird hipster types.”

Nick scowls at him, taking his drink. Martini, dry, with an extra olive. Absolutely horrid, in Harry’s opinion. He doesn’t say this.

Leaning against the table, Ed asks, “Did you know Harry smoked up with Louis?”

Harry’s going to murder him. Nick immediately perks up. “Oh? Why is this the first I’m hearing of this?”

“Because it’s not important,” Harry practically barks, for this entire establishment to hear.

Nick raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Doesn’t seem that way, the way you’re hunched over like that,” he points out.

Harry opts to ignore them, shifting in his seat. It’s Friday, which means unless his father has any sort of plans for him tomorrow, he’s got the entire day off. Seems a bit strange now, not having to get up and follow the schedule so neatly laid out for him.

He needs another beer.

Excusing himself, Harry makes his way toward the door. The doorman waves him off as he steps out, feeling the cool night breeze hit him.

Hands in his pockets, he leans up against the wall. Better out here, he tells himself.

“Fancy meeting you here. Since smoking kills, and all.”

Opening his eyes, Harry spots Louis a few feet away, lit cigarette between his fingers. He looks far different than how he did yesterday; expensive clothes swapped for jeans and a shirt that looks three sizes too large for him, hair swept to one side.

Harry clears his throat. “Getting some fresh air, away from all the - people.”

Louis smirks, flicking the end of his cigarette. Harry does his very best not to find that attractive.

“Didn’t know you were a fan of James’,” Louis continues.

Apparently, they’re in the habit of having conversations with one another now. Harry wasn’t aware of this until just now.

“A new fan. Niall thought I’d enjoy it,” Harry answers.

Louis nods. “I expect your full review when it’s over.”

“I’ll be sure to be thorough,” Harry promises.

With that, Louis steps back inside, leaving Harry alone once more. He shivers, the cold now uncomfortable for him to stand in. 

Coming back inside, everyone’s still at their table. Even Niall, who looks to be talking to Liam, standing beside where Ed is sitting.

“Liam,” Harry says when he gets there. 

Liam turns, smiling at Harry with that always near painfully genuine expression on his face. “How are you, Harry?”

“Good, you know. The usual,” Harry responds. “You?”

“We’re all good, yeah. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Liam looks at him, and Harry wonders if he’s going to ask, or bring up him smoking up with Louis. 

“That’s good,” Harry tells him, sincere.

Liam nods. “I should get back. But it was nice seeing you all.”

Louis is standing with Luke, Harry observes. He tells himself the bitterness he feels when he spots them is nothing. Unimportant.

Niall elbows Harry, hard. “The fuck was that for?” Harry asks, rubbing his side.

“You, drooling over Louis over there,” Niall says, jerking his head to the door Harry just walked through.

Harry scoffs. “Whatever, Horan.”

Like an unasked miracle, there’s the sound of a guitar strumming. The stage lights up, and everyone falls into a captivated, hushed silence. Harry’s only seen that a handful of times, at a few of Ed’s shows - and that was because he stood there for however many minutes it took to get the audience to shut up.

He lets himself at least look in Louis’ general direction once, finding he’s already looking at Harry. Not in an uncomfortable, weird kind of way. But his face has that same softness that it did back in the car the other night. 

Harry swallows, averting his eyes.

Everyone’s too engrossed with James Bay to notice, and rightly so, Harry thinks. He leans his head back, chewing the inside of his cheek and letting himself listen.

\- 

The lights are all off when he gets home. It’s close to two in the morning, or maybe three - Harry can’t remember the last time he checked.

Tossing his coat onto the floor, he takes off his shirt and pants, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers as he finally crawls into bed. It’s cold, as Harry pulls the blankets up over himself. 

Plugging in his phone, Harry unlocks it. He opens Instagram, because he can’t think of anything else to mindlessly look through at this awful hour. 

Selfies, sunsets, sunrises - and everything in between. Food and babies, any and everything under the sun. A few from Taylor and her tour, the pictures she finds online from her fans. Cara’s posted some of her art from school, and Harry takes a moment to go through them.

His sister, Gemma, posted a picture a couple of hours ago. She’s visiting their mom, apparently - though Harry doesn’t remember her telling him that she was even going. He hasn’t visited a lot since Anne moved, just a few times here and there. 

They’re sitting on Anne’s back porch, overlooking a beach her and Robin live on. The picturesque house of perfection, in every sense of the word. 

Harry misses them. Both of them. He can feel it twisting in him, real and not the kind of thing you can so easily ignore.

For a moment, he debates typing a comment - the predictable “miss you,” or something else. Ultimately deciding against it, he puts his phone down onto his bedside table in what feels like defeat.

Maybe he’ll go back, Harry reasons with himself. 

And, lying in the dark alone, it almost sounds like a promise he can actually keep.

-

Sometime late Sunday morning, Harry’s phone buzzes.

He’s doing fuck all, mostly sitting in his room on his computer, fucking around. His father’s literal definition of a lazy fuck. But Harry doesn’t particularly care about that. Labels are labels, after all. And Harry doesn’t believe in them.

It’s Louis. Harry’s about to question why the hell he has Louis’ number in his phone - but then he remembers. Leaving the event, Louis taking his phone. Sneaky bastard. Harry didn’t even see it coming.

_how fast can u get here? i need ur hands. immediately._

Harry pauses, then re reads. Then once more, for good measure.

This is a development. Alright, then. Chances are it isn’t anything dirty. Then again, it could be some kind of sexual emergency. Knowing Louis, this thing could go either way.

He’s curious, so sue him.

However, instead of replying, he dials a number.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Still hungover? For the second day in a row?” Harry asks. Niall grunts.

“Fuck off. Fuck you. Why the fuck are you calling so fucking early? It’s only -” A pause. “Two in the afternoon.”

“Louis texted me.”

“Harry, why. My head hurts so fucking much, and this is how you treat me?” Despite his protests, Harry can hear the smile in Niall’s voice. 

“He wants me, and I directly quote, to use my hands immediately.”

“If I do follow through with killing you, at least they’ll know I had a good motive.”

“Niall, this is serious. Should I go? What if it’s a prank?”

Just as serious as Harry had been, Niall responds, “What if he sucks your dick?”

“You’re right. Okay, fuck. So I should go then,” Harry says.

“Of course, you freak. And let me rest, please. Just one day, Harry, that’s all I’m asking,” Niall just about pleads with him. 

“I’ll talk to you later. Love you,” Harry says.

“Love you too, fucker,” Niall tells him before hanging up. 

Harry text back, _Where do you even live?_

Louis responds within minutes with his address. 

Ducking out of his room, Harry starts toward the front door. The chances of his dad not seeing him are slim, and when Harry hears his voice, he holds back a groan.

“Where are you going?” his dad asks, sitting at the kitchen table - laptop in front of him. 

“Out. To see Niall,” Harry lies, fidgeting with his keys.

His dad eyes him, but seems convinced. “Don’t be out too late. You’ve got work in the morning.”

Going out the door, Harry doesn’t bother looking back, closing it behind him.

 

\- 

Louis’ place isn’t that far from Harry’s, surprisingly; less than half an hour, and that’s including traffic.

It’s a house, different from Harry’s accustomed apartment living. There’s no one else around, by the looks of things, as he pulls into the driveway. - if the fact that it’s empty is anything to go by. He gets out slowly, taking his time and looking around.

The house itself is big, in one of those fancy neighbourhoods. He runs a hand through his hair, phone in the front pocket of his jeans. It’s cold again outside; looks like it’s going to rain. Ahead the big garage door is open, and Harry walks up to the entrance.

He doesn’t spot Louis until he looks over at the car, hood propped open. 

Coughing awkwardly into his fist, he starts, “So this _isn’t_ some weird sex emergency.”

Louis looks up at him, apparently not having heard Harry pull up. “What?” he asks, standing up straight.

There’s oil staining his fingers. Harry stares at them probably longer than is considered normal behaviour. Blinking, he averts his eyes to Louis’ face instead. His fringe is falling into his eyes, still messy; Harry prefers it this way, he thinks.

Not that it’s important at all.

“Nothing - it’s, never mind,” Harry rambles, shaking his head. “I’m um, here. For whatever you needed my hands for.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at Harry, looking like he can’t decide between being disgusted or impressed. Harry can’t tell; isn’t sure he wants to know which it is.

 

“Right, well. If that’s all settled -” Louis waits for Harry to nod. “Then we can get started. What do you say?”

“I mean, sure,” Harry answers, because he doesn’t see any way out of this. “What seems to be the problem?”

Harry, while having grown up around cars, literally knows fuck all about them. So standing in Louis’ garage, he feels like an absolute imposter.

Louis pauses, rubbing his hands together. Harry waits - not sure what to expect in the silence that follows.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, do you?” Louis asks. He sounds accusing.

Harry narrows his eyes, shrugging. “I know a thing or two about cars.”

“Right. So you should know exactly what I say when I tell you my car has a flat four engine and the spark plugs need to be replaced, but they’re basically underneath my car and I need to reach really far in to get them.”

“That sounds like something anyone would say in a casual everyday conversation,” Harry says.

Louis snorts. “You’re full of shit, Styles.”

“So you need my - fingers? To help with this,” Harry says.

Raising an eyebrow, Louis nods, “When you put it that way, I mean. Yes.”

“Why call me? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of other, more capable people who could help,” Harry asks.

A few feet away, Louis shifts on his feet. Coughs into his fist before responding, “They’re all busy. And I’ve been here for fucking hours trying to get the spark plugs to get in, but couldn’t reach. Thought I’d get someone else to give it a go.”

Harry stares at him. “Yeah, sure. Sounds completely normal.”

Louis gives him a look. “Shut the fuck up, Styles. I have other shit I need to do, other than these spark plugs. Are you going to help me or not.”

Could help you get off, maybe, Harry thinks. But what he says is, “Well, I could try.”

With his arms crossed over his chest, Louis looks at him - apprehensive. “You’ve never touched an engine in your life.”

“That’s not fair. I know how to fill my windshield washer fluid,” Harry argues.

Louis puts a hand over his face, definitely more amused this time. “Oh my /God/, Harry. That’s not - even close to this.”

“Still. How hard can it be?” Harry asks.

“Get to it, if you’re so confident in your abilities.”

Harry pauses, but does as Louis asks. He starts bending over the car, pretending he’s some sort of expert that has at least a bit of clue what he’s doing. 

Cars are complicated, which is something Harry has known for a long while now. This just confirms it, he thinks, hands grazing along unfamiliar parts. Who knew fixing an automobile could offer so many sexual innuendos.

He doesn’t say this. He’s not sure Louis would appreciate a joke like this, when Harry’s hand is on his precious car. 

Only issue is, it’s really fucking dark. “Can you, um -” Harry shifts a bit. When he looks over, Louis isn’t even holding a light. “Need some light, please. I can’t see what the fuck I’m doing.”

When he glances over, Louis seems to snap back to attention. He clears his throat awkwardly, reaching and picking up a light, shining it back toward Harry. 

“Oh, um. Right, yeah,” Louis mumbles.

With the light on, Harry does his best to focus. He ignores the pain in his lower back, following the instructions Louis gives from behind him. 

Feeling out of touch with whatever car skill he has acquired, Harry tells himself this is simply confirming something he already knew - that he wasn’t supposed to be a mechanic. 

Oh, wouldn’t his father be so proud, to see him now. Bent over Louis Tomlinson’ expensive car, replacing his sparkplugs. Not to be taken as anything dirty, mind you, but still. Harry wonders how he even ended up here.

Because he thought Louis wanted to suck his dick. Harry nearly groans, biting his lower lip and cursing the day he’d ever set eyes on Louis.

Now _that_ is a thought that would make his father proud.

“Got it?” Louis asks, sounding impatient.

“Think so,” Harry grunts. “Why the rush? Got somewhere to be?”

“No,” Louis answers flatly. “I just - don’t like your hands on her so much, that’s all.”

“Amazing,” Harry says, sarcastic. “Thought you’d have plans with you and your… special friend.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just gives Harry a confused look. “Luke,” Harry clarifies.

“Luke?”

“Yeah, you know. That guy who’s like - practically glued to your side,” Harry answers, attempting to mask his jealousy.

The fuck is he jealous for, anyway. It’s _Louis_.

“We’re not, like. Special friends, in the way that you’re implying.”

“I’m not implying anything,” Harry nearly snaps.

Louis scoffs, “Alright, sure. You weren’t implying anything by calling him my special friend.”

“It was just an observation,” Harry says.

“Keep your observations to yourself, then,” Louis tells him.

“Whatever,” Harry says.

He finishes up, hands dirty but the job done by the time he manages to stand up straight. He picks up a cloth from beside him, while Louis inspects his work.

When he’s done, Harry stretches - wincing at the pain in his back. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself, putting a hand on his lower back.

Louis asks, “Are you alright?”

Harry looks up, seeing concern on his features. “Fine. Just a fucked up back.”

Louis nods in sympathy, eyes lingering where Harry’s got his hand still pressed to his back.

For some strange reason, Harry’s a little worried he’s gone and fucked it all up. It wasn’t that hard, considering he’s never really worked on any kind of car before. Louis seems the type who wouldn’t be very forgiving if Harry’s gone and ruined his car.

While waiting, he checks his phone. A text from Niall. _Marking the calendar as the day U admitted that U want Louis tomlinson to suck UR dick . #Legend_

Harry locks his phone, pocketing it by the time Louis turns around. He doesn’t look angry, Harry thinks, relieved.

“Not bad, Styles.”

“Is that your way of saying I did a good job?” Harry asks. “Shit way of going about it.”

“What, do you want some sort of payment?”

Harry’s mind inexplicably goes to the thought of Louis’ lips around his dick. Fuck, alright then. “No, no. Just the satisfaction to know that I’ve assisted you will be enough. Though a thank you might be nice - one long enough that I can record, and possibly use as blackmail in the future.”

Louis gives him a look. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

“May have been told once or twice.” Harry stares at him, and Louis doesn’t move. Just stands, as if waiting for something else. “If that’s it then I’m going to go.”

“Might need help next week, with a few more things,” Louis starts. “If you were, you know. Into helping, and all.”

Harry shrugs, “This you asking me, Tomlinson?”

“Close as you’re going to get to it, Styles.” Louis tells him.

“I consider myself honoured,” Harry tells him dryly. 

Louis flips him off as he walks back to his car. 

\- 

Harry pretends he isn’t annoyed when Louis doesn’t text him over the next week. It’s not a big thing. It’s not that Harry was anticipating getting another message from Louis, asking for his hands immediately.

He’s sulking, and he knows it. Niall also knows it, much to Harry’s misery.

“The fuck are you even moping about,” Niall asks, sliding another drink across his kitchen counter.

He takes it, cap off, taking a sip. Ignores the look Niall’s giving him, arms propped up on the granite countertop. The first time Harry ever got drunk was right here, in this very kitchen. Threw up in the sink; it was a real fucking mess, even though he can’t remember much. It’s all a bit - hazy.

“Nothing,” Harry snaps moodily. 

Niall raises his eyebrows, “Whatever you say. Bressie said he might come by - Nick too, if he’s around.”

“We could just invite every person we know,” Harry suggests flatly.

“Jesus, Styles,” Niall says, flicking his ear. “Lighten up, will you?”

Harry mutters a quiet _fuck off_ before Niall goes to order some food for them. Nick texts, says he’ll be there soon - Taylor as well, promising she’ll bring Harry some of that raspberry beer he likes. 

Can’t be so bad, then. Fuck Louis anyway. All Harry did was replace his fucking spark plugs, he didn’t propose marriage.

Nick, Taylor, and Bressie - unsurprisingly - turns into a handful of people, as the night goes on. Cara comes by, after an art show, Taylor in tow when they come through the front door. 

“You never let me down,” Harry tells Taylor, accepting her beer.

“I do my best,” Taylor says with a shrug, stepping inside. “What’s got you all pouty?” 

Harry frowns. “Nothing.”

Taylor hums, adjusting the collar on Harry’s shirt. “Whatever you say, then. I’m going to get a drink.”

She and Cara walk off to the kitchen, arms linked with one another as Harry goes to sit on the couch.

“You look fucking miserable,” Nick says, smirking.

“Cheers,” Harry says dryly, taking another sip. Three beers in; maybe four. Who has the time to keep track anymore. The night is young.

People are filtering through the living room, talking loudly with one another. Harry leans his head back, ignoring the annoyance heavy on his chest. Whatever. It’s not a big thing. It’s not _anything_.

Taylor joins him later, allowing Harry to put his legs across her lap. Niall’s next, apparently having won a round of beer pong with Bressie - though that’s not a surprise. 

“Payne’s here,” Nick observes.

Harry stirs, opening one eye. And sure enough, there’s Liam in the doorway, smiling big with his girlfriend pressed into his side. “Why is he here?” Harry asks.

“I invited him,” Niall says. “That alright with you?”

“He’s just being a baby,” Taylor says unsympathetically, brushing a bit of hair from Harry’s forehead. 

“Figure out why?” Niall asks Taylor. She shakes her head.

Harry makes a noise of complaint, soliciting a pat on his thigh from Niall. 

At least they’re letting Harry be miserable.

\- 

A little while later, when Harry’s well and drunk, he decides he needs some water. Sitting up, he feels one of Taylor’s hands on his arm - gentle and familiar.

“You okay to walk?” she asks, lips still just as red as when she’d walked in door. Harry wonders, briefly, if he could’ve ever been in love with her. 

In another life, maybe. Shaking his head, he forces a small smile, “I’m fine.” 

She gives him a look, but Harry shakes her off. “Honest. I’ll be fine.”

His reassurances are apparently enough, because she lets him go. Harry does his best not to stumble into the kitchen, nearly hitting his head on the corner of Niall’s kitchen island. Things are going well, Harry thinks to himself sarcastically.

He manages to make it to the island, getting himself a cup of water and willing himself not to be sick for a second time in his life in Niall’s sink. Once was enough.

“You alright there?”

Harry looks up, and sure enough, there’s Louis. Lips pressed into a thin line, concern on his features. It pisses Harry off, seeing it. 

“Fine,” Harry tells him sharply, moving away from him. 

Louis pauses, hand almost on Harry’s arm, but stops himself. “You want to tell me what you’re pissed at me about?”

“Not pissed,” Harry argues. 

It’s not very convincing, so Harry doesn’t blame Louis for not believing him. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re observant,” Harry says dryly. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” Louis says, now obviously annoyed. 

Harry grips the edge of the counter, making sure he doesn’t do something ridiculous like fall over in this crowded kitchen. 

Deciding there’s no point lying about it, he says, “You haven’t texted me in a week.”

Silence follows. Harry sways, and Louis immediately puts a hand on his lower back, steadying him. “What is this, high school? Is _that_ why you’re pissed at me?” Louis asks.

Harry snorts, rolling his eyes. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

“Apparently it’s something,” Louis says; Harry isn’t sure if he can hear judgement in his tone or not. 

“I should get back,” Harry says, stepping out of Louis’ grip. 

Louis stares at him a moment, as if unsure, before nodding slowly. “Alright,” he says. 

Liam calls his name a moment later, so Louis goes - giving Harry one last glance before disappearing in the next room.

Fuck, Harry thinks, sitting back down beside Taylor. That just about says it all.

\- 

_how u feeling there champ?_

Harry wakes up, very hungover, to a text from Louis. He stares at it a moment, head pounding and wondering why the hell he’s awake, before putting it down and burying his face in his pillow.

“Harry? You up?” his dad knocks on his door. Harry looks at the time. Twenty after seven.

His father truly wants him dead. 

“Not feeling well,” Harry says. His entire mouth feels like a giant cotton ball. “Think I’m going to sit today out.”

There’s no response for a moment, and Harry’s sure his dad is going to open the door and demand he get dressed anyway. But, by some small miracle, he doesn’t.

“I’ll see you when I’m home tonight, then.”

Making sure this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank, Harry waits - listening to his dad’s footsteps carry down the hallway. There’s no more knocking, no more asking him to get up. Nothing.

Sure enough, he’s gone. 

His first Monday off in Harry can’t even remember how long. Feeling like he’s won something, Harry takes out his phone.

_Don’t have to be a dick about it, you know._

Since he’s awake now anyway Harry gets up, swallowing an aspirin dry in the bathroom before making his way into the kitchen. One of the things he misses most is his mom’s cooking in the morning. Pancakes, eggs, french toast; the works. 

He settles for whatever cereal is in the cupboard, pouring some milk onto it and trying some coffee to dull the ache in his head. 

_just being a concerned friend, that’s all_

Harry frowns. He can vaguely remember what was most likely an embarrassing conversation between him and Louis, if he can keep his memory together.

Instead of continuing this painful conversation over text, Harry dials a number, putting the phone up to his ear.

“Morning!” comes Louis’ too loud, too cheerful voice.

Harry winces, “The fuck is wrong with you.”

“Oh, right. Deadly hangover,” Louis says, and Harry can practically hear his smirk on the other line. Bastard. 

“Did you call about our - conversation last night.”

Louis pauses thoughtfully, then asks, “Do _you_ remember our conversation last night?”

Holding his coffee mug in his hand, Harry takes a sip before he says anything. “Not really, no.”

“Wasn’t that important, really,” Louis says, nonchalant.

Harry snorts, nearly spilling his drink all over himself. “You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

“Anyway,” Louis cuts him off promptly. “I was thinking if you’re free, we could hang out.”

“Hang out,” Harry repeats.

“Stop making it sound so juvenile,” Louis snaps. “What are you doing Saturday?”

“Nothing. That I know of,” Harry responds.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at nine.”

“In the morning?” Harry asks, horrified.

“At night, you idiot,” Louis says, but Harry’s sure he can make out a smile while he’s saying it.

“Sounds like the beginning of a murder mystery,” Harry says.

“Fucker. I’ll see you then,” Louis says before hanging up.

Short but sweet, Harry thinks in mild amusement as he makes some toast to go with his black coffee.

\- 

“Maybe he’s got one of those, you know. Sex dungeons,” Niall suggests Thursday afternoon, while they’re out for beer and dinner.

“I hope not,” Nick says, eyes wide. “Harry wouldn’t do well with all that rope.”

“Maybe he’s a chain kind of guy,” Niall pipes up.

Harry rolls his eyes, taking one of Niall’s fries off his plate. “Don’t know if Louis is the type to have one of those,” he says.

“Because you know what kind of sex dungeon he would have,” Niall says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up, Horan, I mean it. Or else I’m going to come over there and have my way with you.” Harry barely manages to get it out before he breaks into a grin, shaking his head. 

Nick laughs, loudly; Niall just grins, triumphant. 

\- 

 

Harry’s not sure what to expect, as he waits outside for Louis to pick him up. Scrolls aimlessly through his phone until he hears the car pull up, loud and sounding very Louis-like.

“You’re late.” 

Louis doesn’t look at Harry, abruptly pulling out onto the street as soon as Harry gets in and says, “By ten fucking minutes.”

Without arguing, Harry leans back in his seat and puts his phone away. Louis drives exactly how Harry thought he would - calculated control, hands gripping the wheel and eyes focused ahead. There’s a strange hint of uncertainty in the air. As if at any moment, for whatever reason, he could flick his hand on the wheel and turn them right into oncoming traffic. Harry doesn’t think he would. But the option is there in the air, unspoken.

Louis’ face looks sharp, in the hot, LA summer air - Harry’s shirt feels like it’s sticking to him where he’s sitting in the front seat. His jawline looks as if it could cut glass. His eyes never once look over to where Harry’s sitting.

Harry feels a slight sense of disappointment when they pull back into Louis’ driveway. The door’s open, the same light shining from the corner of the garage. Harry gets out, not saying a word, as he runs a hand through his hair. 

“Thought you’d have something more exciting planned for me,” Harry says.

Louis ignores his comment, instead tossing him an old rag, oil stains all over it. Harry stares at it, before looking back at Louis.

“You’re going to have to start paying me hourly, you know,” Harry adds.

Louis raises an eyebrow, then says, “Get to work, so I have something to pay you for.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Harry follows where Louis is pulling up two stools in front of the car, wooden and looking like they were intended for someone under the age of five - but he doesn’t say anything, just sits beside Louis.

“The headlights need replacing,” Louis starts explaining, wiping off his hands. “I just need you hand over the bulb when I say, yeah?”

He motions to the table beside the car, where the bulbs in question are. Harry nods in understanding, standing just behind him. For some strange reason he’s nervous, probably because he still has no understanding of cars - and because Louis asked him to hang out again. Either way, it means Harry doesn’t want to fuck this up. Whatever this is.

Louis is quiet, in a concentrated silence, hands getting new dirt stains on them as he lets out a soft, near-frustrated sound from between his lips. Harry watches, he can’t help himself - sees the way Louis is so entirely focused, pressing his fingers in all the right spots, as if trying to get a read on his car. Like it’s a living, breathing person.

He’s about as gentle with her as he would be with a human being, Harry thinks to himself. 

“Need the bulb,” Louis says, breaking the quiet.

Unsure and trying not to fuck anything up, Harry turns, reaching for the bulb. He’s nearly got his fingers wrapped around it, when Louis’ voice breaks his train of thought -

“What the fuck are you doing?” Louis snaps, sounding panicked. Harry nearly jumps at his sharp tone. “You can’t _touch_ it Styles, Jesus -”

Harry takes a step back, exhaling. He shouldn’t have come. Someone who knows fuck all shouldn’t have even set foot in this fucking garage.

After a split second, Louis’ expression changes. To that look he gave Harry in the car the night they smoked up - and again at the James Bay concert. Soft and slightly frazzled, but his fingers light when they wrap around Harry’s wrist, “Shit, sorry. Sorry - sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped. Listen, here.” 

There’s a genuine regret in his tone, voice more hushed than it had been half a minute ago. “It’s just - if you touch the bulb, it fucks it all up, you know? So you’ve got to wrap the paper towel there, around the end. Before you hand it over to me,” he instructs gently, fingers now gone from Harry’s wrist.

Harry bites his lower lip, considering. Louis waits, patiently, before Harry finally hands it over. He takes it carefully, bending back over and installing it.

“So what did you think of James Bay the other night?” Louis asks.

It’s a way out, what Louis’ offering, and Harry takes the bait. He leans against Louis’ work table, arms crossed over his chest and replies, “He was good, yeah.”

Louis snorts, amused. “You’re friends with Grimshaw, aren’t you? So you’re well versed in hipster music, I assume.”

“Something like that,” Harry says, barely able to hold back his smile.

“With your impossibly high standards,” Louis continues, very clearly sarcastic now, “would you say you like his stuff?”

Harry shrugs, trying to appear noncommittal. “He’s good. Would see him again, if he comes around again.”

Louis looks up, briefly, his eyes catching Harry’s for a moment. “A very promising review. You should consider a career.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry watches Louis shift to the other side of the car. Just the same as last time, except this time with the added paper towel holding the bulb, he hands it over. Louis thanks him for it and puts it in. Wiping his hands, he gives Harry a wide grin in approval.

“Not bad, Styles,” Louis tells him.

“Such high praise,” Harry says dryly, watching Louis wipe his hands on the already stained cloth. 

“You got any plans tonight?” Louis finally asks, breaking the silence.

The sky’s long dark by now, air cool enough that it has Harry pulling his jacket closer to his body. He could say no. Go home, meet his dad there, ask him how things at the office were today. Or, he could go with Louis - wherever that is, and see what becomes of it.

Louis’ standing there, in front of him. Wearing a green hoodie and tight jeans, and Harry has to bite his lower lip, taking him all in.

“No, I don’t,” Harry answers.

Immediately, Louis’ lips curl into a smile, “Good. Get in.”

And Harry does.

\- 

Louis drives fast. But not in the jerky, abrupt kind of way. He’s got his foot pressed against the gas, giving it more, but not to show off.

He just wants more. More speed, more acceleration. More of everything, by the looks of things. Not that Harry’s an expert, because he isn’t, it’s just. The way Louis handles himself behind the wheel demands attention. Or specifically, Harry’s attention.

The car itself is manual, which is something Harry wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy, but apparently Louis is a big fan of it. Constantly has one hand the stick shift, finger tapping to a beat Harry cannot hear. He watches the way Louis’ hand flexes, as if on instinct - going off of something Harry has no clue about.

Harry takes in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Easy there, Styles, he tells himself silently - feeling like some sort of pervert, watching Louis’ hand intensely. 

Totally casual. A completely casual thing that normal, platonic friends do.

It’s nearly midnight, but Harry isn’t tired. He can feel something inside him, alive and very awake. Possibly the idea of Louis taking him somewhere unknown. Though it mostly could be the fact that he’s alone with Louis, in a car. Like he’s some overzealous teenager, going out on his first car ride alone with someone he finds attractive.

“It seems like you know this car really well,” Harry observes when Louis turns a corner, hardly batting an eye.

With a coy smirk, Louis says, “Yeah, well. She gives me what I want.”

Harry presses back against the seat, trying his very best not to be obvious when he grips his thigh, grounding himself. In other words, stopping himself from getting an embarrassing hard-on in Louis Tomlinson’s fucking car.

“Well, that’s lovely for you two then,” Harry says, pretty sure he’s on the verge of death.

Thankfully, Louis doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too engrossed in driving down this dark, empty highway to come back with any sort of sarcastic remark. 

Glancing around, Harry doesn’t have a fucking clue where he is. He isn’t sure he’s ever been this far outside of the city, where the beaches are long, going on for miles. 

“Almost there,” Louis breaks the silence, jaw set as he talks.

Harry turns his head, looking over at him. God, even his profile is alarmingly striking in the dim light.

“Going to tell me where we’re going?” Harry asks, putting his hands into the pocket of his sweater.

“Annie beach,” Louis answers.

Glancing back out his window, Harry sees a number of cars parked along the sand. He pauses, seeing a fire - a lot of people standing around it.

Niall’s talked about nights like these before. They’re meetups, or something. Mostly just a bunch of people standing around some designated space, talking about whatever. Cars, Harry’s assuming, judging by the way they’re all leaning against them with a strangely possessive vibe about it.

“So, what is this, exactly?” Harry asks, feeling out of place.

“I thought you’d maybe want to come with me. It’s like - we usually meet up here, every couple of weeks,” Louis explains, shrugging.

He stops the car, and Harry can feel Louis’ gaze on him, though he refuses to meet it. Instead, he focuses on the way Louis’ thumb continually runs over the top of the shift, slowly, as if trying to figure out what’s going on in Harry’s head.

The problem is, he hardly knows anyone on that beach. Or anything about cars, really, except what his father’s taught him - though that doesn’t get him much farther than nothing. 

Harry keeps his arms crossed over his chest. Louis doesn’t say anything, just waits. 

Harry’s this rich kid, who wears St. Laurent and does fuck all all day besides falling asleep in long, useless meetings. It’s different with Louis - in a way, because he doesn’t really seem to give a fuck. But to extend that to all these people out there? There’s no way he belongs here, out on this beach, talking to these people. They’ll see right through him in a heartbeat, just one blink of an eye and he’ll be found out.

“They’re all going to hate me,” Harry says. Not a question, just a well stated fact.

Beside him, Louis’ brows furrow, one hand still on the wheel - bracing himself. He’s this weird combination of soft edges and hard lines Harry can’t seem to understand, watching him lick his lower lip.

“No, they won’t.” Louis says, earnest and with a gentle sincerity in his voice so the way he says it feels like a punch directly to Harry’s chest. “They’ll love you, I promise. You’ll have fun, come on.”

Harry feels like a child, sitting in the front seat, arms still crossed and hair pushed back by the sunglasses he doesn’t need anymore on top of his head. 

“I don’t know, Louis -” he starts, but is cut off a few moments later.

“I want you there.” Louis tells him, straight up, exactly how Harry needs to hear it. When he catches Louis’ gaze there’s no hint of pity, but instead some kind of eagerness he can’t read into.

“Alright,” Harry says in defeat, “fine. I’ll go.”

Saying no to Louis Tomlinson was never an option, anyway, the way he sees it.

\- 

Turns out, it’s not _too_ terrible. Mostly it’s Harry sipping on beer for the next couple of hours, being introduced to the large amount of people crammed onto this one small section of a beach.

Right now he’s talking to Angela, who’s very into sports cars, and has been discussing them at length with Harry for a while now. More than half an hour, at least. Which isn’t terrible, it’s just. Cars. His vocabulary is limited. Everything about him in a conversation about cars is limited. But Angela is very nice, very sweet and has a streak of bright pink in her hair that Harry’s rather fond of, but.

God. Fucking cars.

Her last question directed at him was about his feelings on different brands of brake kits, which, Harry would much rather shove a handful of sand into his mouth then have to answer it.

Louis is never too far off, always an arm’s length away. Right now he’s talking to Stan, his childhood friend, as Harry had found out, having a rather heated argument over if Channing Tatum is a ‘credible actor’. Louis says he is, and Harry agrees with him.

“Hope my friend here isn’t boring you, Ang,” Louis says, pressing a gentle hand carefully onto Harry’s lower back.

Harry scoffs, tipping back another sip of his beer, “Excuse me. I’m very well versed on the subject of brake kits, as we were just talking about.”

Louis hides his smile when he presses his face into the back of Harry’s shoulder. He’s warm and smells a bit like lingering weed on his clothes, and a campfire. It’s a combination Harry never thought he liked until now.

He’s also become a sap, which is new to him. Louis’ hand is so warm pressed against his sweater that Harry’s having troubles focusing.

Angela, bless her beautiful soul, rolls her eyes at Louis over her own drink. “He’s a lot nicer than you, you know.”

Louis hums, not bothered by this comment, “What are your feelings on Channing Tatum? Stan and I are very curious.”

Harry lets himself be turned by Louis, now facing another conversation entirely. He gives Angela a wink to promise they’ll finish their discussion later, now being faced with Stan.

But it’s nice, Harry decides, being here. With sand in his shoes and the hot, LA heat making his hair stick to the back of his neck; a good Friday night. 

One for the books, maybe. Especially when Louis presses his thumb to the inside of Harry’s wrist once, briefly, before Stan starts talking loudly, and very drunkenly, about 22 Jump Street. Which, as it turns out, he was not very impressed with.

So the night goes on, and Harry finds himself immersed in everything. He’s sitting in front of the fire right now, feet buried in the sand and hair tied back. There’s bits of melted marshmallow still left on the pads of his fingers, sticky.

The waves are loud behind him, lapping up against the shore. It brings back memories of when his mom would take him and Gemma out to the water. Harry was always begging and pleading with his dad to take them down to the beach, day after day, and one day Anne finally decided to do it, even if her husband refused. Packed them up some lunches and took them on their way, much to Harry’s delight.

His dad was, no surprise, in meetings all day - telling them he’ll take them next weekend, one afternoon. The entire family. Harry had been seven at the time, and still now can remember the look on his mother’s face when she’d read it on her phone. 

It’s different now, at the beach this time. No frown on his mother’s face, no empty promises from his dad. Just the open sky and the sound of cars and people laughing, the fire warm on his now slightly cold face.

“Careful, Styles. Get too close and you might set yourself on fire,” Louis warns, coming to sit beside him.

“Shut up,” Harry says, no real heat behind it. He leans over, nudging Louis’ shoulder with his own.

“Angela said you were learning a lot about brake kits,” Louis says after a moment, not looking up from the fire. 

A little ways off, there’s music coming from one of the cars. Harry spots Luke talking to Stan, shifting a bit. Digs his toes deeper into the sand, wondering how he even managed to get here in the first place. Well, Louis, obviously. 

Harry would never have considered coming here, if this was only a month ago. He’s known Louis most of his life, and can only say he’s really _known_ him for just under a month, as of right now.

“Angela is being far too nice about me. I just nodded the entire time she was speaking,” Harry says.

Louis is still looking at the fire. Harry wonders, briefly, if his hands are still just as warm as when they were on his lower back, a few moments ago.

“Well, she likes you. Which is saying a lot,” Louis tells him. As if this is some kind of accomplishment.

A little before three in the morning, he and Louis stand up from the beach, making their way back to his car, saying their goodbyes. Though it’s mostly Louis talking, shaking hands and promising he’ll see them all soon. 

Harry stands beside him, seeing a cigarette tucked behind Louis’ ear. He’s got a gentle hand on Harry’s lower back, not insistent but merely a quiet reminder that he’s there. It makes Harry feel less stressed, knowing.

On the way back to his car, Louis lights his cigarette; Harry can smell the smoke each time Louis exhales.

The fire’s gone down a bit, dimmer on the beach as Harry walks alongside him. Louis is still wearing his sweater, shivering a little while after they’d arrived. He shrugs it off when they get to his car, flicking his cigarette and handing it over.

“Want me to drive?” Harry jokes, opening his door.

Louis presses his heel into the end of his cigarette against the pavement, rolling his eyes. “Get in the fucking car, Styles.”

So Harry does. He leans back in his seat as Louis turns the key, pulling out. There’s no radio, just the gentle hum on the engine - both of them sitting in a comfortable silence. Even now, Harry can still hear the waves in his ears, echoing from the beach. He wishes he could find some way to put it to memory, when he can’t sleep.

Back in high school, he used to go to the beaches a lot. With his friends, when they’d first gotten their licenses and thought they were cool. Piling up in cars and driving out, to the sand and smoking weed down on the shore when no one else was around.

This is different than that, not in a bad way. Just - different.

After a few moments of silence, Louis breaks it, “Wasn’t so bad, was it?”

His voice is gentle, no condescending tone behind it. He waits for his answer, switching into the next lane. 

Smiling a little, Harry nods. The only light is from Louis’ dashboard, and the streetlights. “Yeah,” he says in agreement.

“I used to like, feel that way.” Louis looks at Harry, shrugging, before turning back. “Was certain they thought I was a spoiled rich kid - or whatever, who had all this money to spend working on cars all day any way I wanted to. That’s why I bought this car in the first place.”

“You and your nice family sized Sedan,” Harry jokes.

Louis smirks, but continues, “That’s the thing though, I _like_ putting work into this car. And those people? They don’t give a shit that I can order the most expensive brand new part and have it shipped overnight priority to my doorstep. They just wanna talk about cars. They don’t care about money, or social status, or anything like that. That’s why I like them.” 

Harry nods, not saying anything; he realizes he’s learned more about Louis tonight than he ever could have learned from the shit his father has been telling him throughout the years.

Louis turns a corner, eyes focused ahead. Harry’s not sure he’ll ever forget the look in Louis’ eyes, as he drives. With an intensity Harry’s sure he’s never seen before, not ever.

It’s almost four in the morning; he’s fucking exhausted. 

“You know,” Harry starts, turning his head. Louis is quiet, waiting. “You’re not so bad, Louis.”

A short, thoughtful silence follows with one of Louis' hands on the gear shift when he says, “Been telling you that for years, Harry.”

There’s a small smile on his lips and a look in his eyes Harry isn’t sure he will ever be able to decipher. 

Louis doesn’t call him Styles.

\- 

For the first time since Harry’s been attending these stupid meetings, he’s late. And it’s not even his fucking fault, either. There’s traffic that takes a fucking hour for him to get through, and by the time he reaches the office he’s tired, coffee spilled all over his front seat, and he’s at about zero level of patience, pushing through the glass doors.

His dad’s secretary, Jessica, gives him a look as Harry approaches her desk and says, “Rough morning?”

Harry nods grimly. “Where’s my dad?”

“In a meeting with the shareholders.” Judging by the look on her face, his father isn’t happy with him.

Swallowing, he watches them all in the large conference room. “I’ll just - wait in his office.”

There’s no use giving her his long list of excuses; his father won’t believe them, not even coming from her. 

The few times Harry’s been in his father’s office, he hasn’t looked that closely at anything. With his hands behind his back he starts going through it, eyes moving along the shelves.

His entire record collection is here, by the looks of it. Some of them faded, the corners a bit ripped, but most of them in near perfect condition. Des Styles is a man who looks after his things, as Harry well knows.

A few signed basketballs and baseballs, on their stands. No pictures - just things. Having seen enough of his father’s prized possessions, Harry goes to sit on one of the chairs, taking out his phone.

Nick texted him a picture of him and James Bay this morning, apparently interviewing him for his show. 

After about an hour Jessica comes in with a Starbucks cup for him, along with a croissant, before putting his father’s order onto his desk. Nonfat, no foam latte with two raw sugars. Harry knows his order.

It’s nearly at the two hour mark, when his father finally surfaces. Harry sits up a bit straighter in his chair, bracing himself.

“You were late.”

Always a man who has no trouble stating the obvious. 

“There was traffic, I was stuck in my car for an extra hour,” Harry explains.

There’s no hint of sympathy or understanding on his father’s face, moving to take his coffee from his desk. 

“I just don’t know if you’re taking this seriously,” his dad starts in again. Harry clenches his fists at his side, exhaling slowly. “Or if you realize that this isn’t some kind of game I’m playing with you. This is your _future_ , Harry. Not some office joke you make it out to be.”

Outside, there’s the sound of cars driving by. The sun’s out - bright and streaming through the window, hot on the long sleeved shirt Harry’s wearing. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Harry finally snaps, breaking the silence.

Immediately, his dad looks up at him from his desk, “Excuse me -”

“I’ve been working my ass off, in here. Coming to meetings, doing the filing, going to more meetings - doing every fucking thing you ask me, and sometimes more than that. And you’re going to stand here and tell me I’m not taking this seriously? Because I was late one fucking time? I’ve been here, every day, exactly at eight. And you’re making it seem like I come in here drunk half the time, wandering around doing fuck all all day.” Harry shakes his head, “I’m taking the rest of the day off, think about how I don’t take this seriously.”

He doesn’t stay to see what he assumes is the stunned or angry look on his father’s face. Instead, he lets the door fall closed behind him and gets into his car, pulling out onto the road.

 _You around?_ Sending the text, he turns up the radio and grips the steering wheel tight. A response comes within a minute, _at the coffee shop by my dad’s office downtown_.

_See you soon._

Harry drives.

\- 

There’s a few parking spaces around the back of the building by the time Harry pulls in. His head is pounding, and he can still feel the anger lingering in his touch as he closes his car door forcefully.

Maybe he should keep driving, clear his head a little. Jaw set, Harry opens the door, stepping inside. 

Louis is sitting in a booth with Liam. They’re talking when Harry sees them, feeling out of place. Fuck. He shouldn’t have come. He should just go home and sleep for the rest of the day, or go to see Nick -

“Harry?”

It took Louis all of a few seconds to spot him, getting up from him and Liam’s table, “Are you alright?”

Harry chews the inside of his cheek. “I’m fine.”

His words sound curt, cut off; Louis doesn’t seem to notice. “You don’t look fine.”

Laughing, Harry shrugs. “Been a long day.”

Louis pauses, blinking. “It’s barely even noon.”

“Feels like it should be tomorrow already,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair. 

As if debating, Louis glances back at Liam, having an unspoken conversation. When he turns back to Harry, there’s a look of concern and uncertainty before he says, “Come on. Let’s go.”

This is becoming a habit with them, seems like. Louis telling Harry to go with him, and Harry agreeing without a second thought.

“What about Liam -” Harry starts but Louis shakes his head, cutting him off.

“On his lunch. He’s got to go back to work soon,” Louis says. “I’ll see him tomorrow anyway.”

Harry glances over, giving Liam a wave. And, with a sympathetic look in response, Liam smiles before waving back.

Without another word, they start out to Louis’ car. Harry takes out his keys, seeing Louis jerk his head down the road. “Follow me, yeah?”

Harry nods, getting into his driver’s side. He follows Louis down the familiar way back to his house, pulling into his driveway. Getting out, Harry pauses, confused.

“Get in my car,” Louis instructs gently, waiting. 

Walking up the driveway, Harry gets into the familiar passenger’s side of Louis’ car. He leans his head back and watches as Louis starts backing out. It feels like Harry’s spent more time in this car recently than he has his own. 

It’s cloudy outside, the sun hidden and looking like it’s threatening rain.

He’s lived here his whole life and Harry still finds it strange he can’t decipher which roads are familiar and which are not once they’re outside the city. Maybe driving with Louis makes everything feel familiar, somehow.

They don’t talk, and that’s alright. There’s something strangely calming about sitting in the silence, with the scenery passing them by. Harry watches Louis’ hand flex on the steering wheel every couple of minutes, back against his seat and staring out the front window.

A little ways out, he pulls into a restaurant. Once inside, they sit in a booth, in the back. It’s pretty packed, people scattered around them.

“You never wait to be seated,” a voice comes from beside them, irritated.

Louis grins up at the waitress, whose name tag reads Eleanor. “Why bother? If I’m sitting in the same spot every time.”

She rolls her eyes, now shifting her gaze to Harry. “Who’s this? Dragged him with you to keep you company so Liam didn’t have to?”

Harry grins, despite the look Louis gives him when he does. “Came here to get some food, actually, if you wouldn’t mind. This is Harry. Be nice, please, El.”

She smiles at Harry, warm and genuine. “Eleanor. Nice to meet you, Harry. If you need to take a break from this one, just give me a sign. Wink, or yell help.”

Harry snorts. Louis kicks him gently under the table, rolling his eyes. “We’ll take two Cokes, and whatever sandwich special is on today.”

Squinting, Harry gives Louis a look of uncertainty. “It’s alright,” Eleanor assures him, reading his mind, “Louis might not be good at much - but he’s good at ordering food.”

“So very kind of you,” Louis says dryly, glaring over at her.

With another smile Eleanor’s off, stopping at another table along her way. When Harry looks back at Louis, he’s already looking at him.

“So.” Harry starts, hands folded on the table in front of them.

“So,” Louis repeats, grinning. 

“Come here often?” Harry asks.

“Not really. A few times, I’d say,” Louis answers, shrugging. 

“Seems a bit more than a few times,” Harry tells him, narrowing his eyes. 

With his arms behind his head, Louis glances to Eleanor, who’s putting their drinks down and asks, “Would you say I come here often?”

Eleanor rolls her eyes, “Too much.”

She leaves them again after that, walking off as Harry takes a sip of his drink. It’s nice, the place. Looks a bit worn around the edges, but that’s how Harry likes things. Feels like it’s lived in.

“You like it?” Louis asks.

Harry nods, “Yeah. Never heard of it, before.”

“Not a lot of people have,” Louis says. “Used to come here a lot, after school.”

 

They talk a bit, before their food comes. Eleanor tugs on Louis’ ear, briefly, before walking away. 

 

It’s almost strange, seeing Louis in this element. Leaned back in his seat, head pressed against the booth and smiling widely to Harry across the table. He looks comfortable and relaxed, the straw between his lips and telling him a story about one time he fucked up one of his father’s cars, just before a showing.

“My father would probably never speak to me again,” Harry says.

Louis snorts, straw still in the corner of his mouth, “Don’t think that’s entirely true.”

“You clearly don’t know Des Styles,” Harry tells him.

“Sounds like a real charmer, your dad,” Louis says. 

“Best in the business,” Harry says.

“One of the best,” Louis corrects, smirking.

Harry picks at his food for a little while, fork scraping across the plate. It’s good - he’s just not all that hungry, really. Shifting on the bench he exhales, feeling his phone buzzing in his pocket.

A call from his dad. Ignoring it, Harry looks up to see a few more people coming into the restaurant, being seated. The last time he’d been to a place like this was with his mom; his father would refuse to eat somewhere that has cartoon pictures framed and hung up along the walls. Somewhere with expensive food and two hundred dollar bottles of wine is more his scene.

But his mom, she’s the opposite. Always wanted to get out of the life his father had built, needing to go out and be somewhere that wasn’t filled with old men in suits. Like a breath of fresh air, Harry always thought. He doesn’t know why he stopped going, anymore.

“You alright?”

Harry’s phone buzzes with a text from his dad, _Where are you?_. When he looks over at Louis he says, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Louis nods, plate almost finished as he takes a drink of his tea. “You ready to go?”

They pay their bill, Eleanor waiting at the front for them while Louis puts his card through. “Got any big plans?” she asks, looking between them.

“I was thinking of going out, racing some cars,” Louis starts. “Totally your kind of scene.”

Eleanor scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Stay away from this one, Harry. He’s nothing but trouble.”

“Unfortunately, I know that already,” Harry says, feeling Louis press lightly into his side.

With a nod of sympathy and understanding, she gives him a final wave. “If there’s anyone who understands that, it’s me.”

Harry gives her one last small smile, before they leave.

\- 

“Got somewhere to be?” Harry asks when they get to the car, Louis turning the key.

“No,” Louis answers easily, pulling out onto the road.

“Where are we going?”

He doesn’t respond to Harry right away, hands on the wheel. “You’ll see.”

So they drive. It’s colder out today - clouds looming in the sky, dark and threatening rain on the usually sunny LA disposition. Harry turns his phone off; doesn’t want to see any more missed calls or texts from his dad. Maybe he feels guilty, or maybe he wants to give Harry another lecture about the car company and his future.

Either way, Harry doesn’t particularly give a fuck right now. 

Leaning his head back, Harry watches the scenery pass him by. Louis is quiet, understanding Harry’s not exactly in a chatty mood - turning on his phone to play some music through the speakers. 

He could talk about it, if he wanted. Harry’s sure Louis would listen to his useless whining and unhappiness from the driver’s seat. 

When they’re just outside the city his eyes start getting heavy. unable to keep them open anymore, he finally drifts off to sleep.

\- 

Generally, cars aren’t comfortable to sleep in. But by the time Harry blinks awake, the sun’s starting to set, and he feel rested. Something he’s not used to.

They’re parked on some sort of beach. Harry can smell food, turning to see Louis still beside him. 

“Got you some food,” Louis says, handing him a paper bag. 

Harry stares at it a moment, before opening it. He pauses, and looks where Louis is wiping his hands on a napkin, weirdly shocked at the gesture itself. It’s not much, just some greasy diner food, but still. It feels like Louis is taking care of him, the way he’d handed it over without a second thought. He’s forgotten what that felt like. Having someone take care of him.

Harry takes a fry out and eats it, before looking back out the window. 

“This is your secret place?” Harry finally asks.

Louis turns his head, rolling his eyes, “You’ve been asleep for almost three hours. Been driving around to the middle of fucking nowhere, until you finally woke up.”

He eats another fry, hearing the water against the shore. “Come on,” he says, unbuckling himself.

Without question, Louis follows. Both of them are holding their bags as they start out toward the beach; there’s only a few people scattered around, sitting and walking around with one another. Harry runs a hand through his hair, feeling weirdly embarrassed about this whole thing.

“We just, we don’t get along well,” Harry starts explaining.

Louis’ jaw is set, staring out across the water. He sits down on a rock, and Harry keeps talking, “He’s an asshole, basically.”

“Not that hard to see,” Louis says.

There’s sand in his shoes, when he sits next to Louis. “Thanks, for the food,” he says finally.

Louis shrugs, leaning over to take one of Harry’s fries. “Not a big deal.”

“Tell me a story,” Harry says. 

“What kind of story?” Louis asks in response, turning to look at him.

“Any kind. Just tired of hearing my own thoughts,” Harry responds.

Louis runs a thoughtful hand through his hair, wiping his fingers on a napkin before putting into his now empty paper bag. “The first time I’d ever sucked a guy off - was at a party, back when I was eighteen I think? That summer.”

Harry blinks. “That’s the first thing that came to mind when I asked you that?”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, shoving his shoulder lightly. “I saw him earlier today, when I was leaving my dad’s office, that’s why I thought of it.”

“Ah, yes. Nostalgia about sucking your first guy’s dick,” Harry says flatly.

“It was at Liam’s house, the party. And I met this guy - Cole. We went into the bathroom, and we were getting along relatively well, I’d say.”

“Relatively well,” Harry repeats, amused.

“I had his fucking dick halfway down my throat, so. Pretty well,” Louis says, elbowing Harry. “It’s all well and good - but then, like, out of nowhere he taps my fucking head.”

“Never a good sign,” Harry says.

“You know what he fucking says?” Harry shakes his head, and Louis continues, “tells me ‘heads up.'"

 

“Fuck,” Harry says, nearly choking on a bite of his burger.

“He was telling me he was about to come, which is - absolutely the fucking worst thing to do. Heads up. What is this, a fucking football game? I’m the one sucking you off. If your dick is in my mouth you’d better be praising my name and worshipping the ground I walk on.”

Harry’s laughing now, can’t stop himself and Louis, despite himself, looks like he’s on the verge of doing the same, “From there on out, I told myself - it has to be something simple, easy. Like, hey, I’m about to come. Or even excuse me, Louis, I’m about to nut, thanks.”

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Harry says into the back of his hand, still laughing. 

“Needless to say, I never spoke to Cole again,” Louis continues, arms crossed over his chest.

“Strange, he sounds absolutely lovely,” Harry says.

“That’s a story for you,” Louis says.

“I will cherish it forever,” Harry says mockingly, putting a hand over his heart.

He kicks his shoes off, feeling the still warm sand against his skin. Beside him, Louis is smiling, just a little. In the light of the sun his skin still looks golden; like everything Harry’s ever wanted.

Louis’ fingers are warm when they curl around Harry’s fingers. Not quite holding hands, but still very there, oil stains on his skin.

Neither of them say anything, but they don’t have to; there’s no real need to know what this is, or what the hell they’re doing. For now, it’s enough.

\- 

Harry doesn’t want to go home. By the time him and Louis get back to his car their hands are no longer joined, but he can still feel the warmth of Louis’ fingers on his skin as he gets into the passenger’s side.

Beside him, Louis’ phone starts buzzing, as he goes to pick it up. “Hello?” Louis immediately laughs, rolling his eyes, “you’re an idiot, Payno.”

It’s Liam. Not a surprise to Harry, leaning his head back and staring out where the sun’s nearly set in the sky. The car smells like cheap burgers. Louis starts talking again, “I’m still with Harry, yeah. I can ask him if he wants to go.”

Pulling his phone away from his mouth, Louis asks, “Liam says there’s a party tonight. Want to go? It’s at that house where Niall’s friend -”

“Bressie,” Harry finishes. Louis nods. “Yeah, let’s go. Niall will be pissed if I don’t show up for at least an hour, anyway.”

Louis grins at him, “We’ll go there now. Yes, I’ll drive safe. Who do you take me for, Liam, honestly?”

Hanging up, he pulls back out onto the highway, leaving the beach behind. There’s the question in the back of Harry’s mind - what the fuck are we doing, what the fuck was that - that he doesn’t voice. Instead, he crosses his arms over his chest and exhales, slowly.

The drive’s a little more than half an hour, since they’re so far out. Neither of them comment on it, and Louis doesn’t seem to mind - has a liking to driving, Harry’s noticed. So he has no real reason to feel guilty, the streetlights passing them by.

A year ago, if you'd told Harry he was going to be spending this much time with Louis Tomlinson - he would’ve laughed. Laughed until he was blue in the face and told you that you’re full of shit, because there’s no fucking way he would willingly spend time with him, especially in his fucking car, of all things.

How times change, Harry thinks. How he even got here - he’s not really all that clear on that still. Somehow Louis managed to find his way into Harry’s life without him even really knowing, and now there’s not really anything either of them can do about it.

Louis turns up the radio, the bass loud in the speakers and his hands gripped tight around the wheel. It’s as if he’s having an entire conversation through his movements, head turned and exhaling through his nose.

“You always going to watch me when I drive, Styles?” he asks, breaking the silence.

Clearing his throat, Harry feels his cheeks flush before replying, “Got nothing much better to do, do I?”

There’s a very obvious smirk on Louis’ face when Harry glances over at him again, but he doesn’t say anything more as they pull onto Bressie’s street. His house isn’t that hard to find, the one with cars lined up outside it. 

Getting out, Harry feels Louis press into his side as they walk up the path to the front door. For the briefest of moments, he can feel Louis’ fingers brush the back of his hand, before stepping inside.

Liam’s waiting for them, waving Louis over - face flushed and laughing at something Niall’s said, from beside him. “Didn’t know Horan was so funny,” Louis comments, grinning when Niall flips him off.

Turning to Harry, Niall slurs, “Where’ve you been?”

Harry holds him up carefully, mouthing he’s going to get some water and guiding him toward the kitchen. “Went out for a bit.”

He reaches for a glass, putting some water in it before handing it over to Niall. “With Louis?” he asks before taking a drink, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

“Maybe,” Harry answers, “how are you getting home?”

“Liam and Sophia,” Niall says. 

“Third wheel. Nice,” Harry teases. Niall narrows his eyes at him.

“They’re great to third wheel for,” he says moodily, and Harry has to physically force himself to stop from laughing.

“I’m sure they are,” Harry tells him, before adding, “finish that water.”

Niall nods, not arguing with Harry like he normally does. Bressie comes in later, and after Harry says a quick hello, he walks out into the living room, more people coming through the front door.

He finds Cara on a couch, talking to a girl she introduces to Harry as Daisy, who smiles up at him - wide and warm. “Look at that dimple,” Daisy says, poking at it.

Cara laughs, a loose arm around the back of the couch, “Careful, Dais. That’s how he reels you in.”

“My secret weapon,” Harry adds.

After a few minutes Daisy excuses herself, leaving Harry and Cara on the couch. He’s known her since he was thirteen, the two of them sitting in the back of class and getting absolutely nothing done. Not much has changed, since then.

“Saw you come here with your new friend,” Cara comments, staring at Harry pointedly.

Seeing this coming, Harry shrugs. “We’re just, you know. Hanging out.”

“Hanging out,” Cara repeats, smirking. “With or without clothes? Or does that come later.”

Harry rolls his eyes, shoving her lightly and says, “It’s not like that.”

Cara hums, tucking one of her legs underneath her. When Harry looks up, he sees Louis across the room - still with Liam, glancing in his general direction. “You sure?” Cara asks, having seen this exchange between them.

“Probably looking for Niall, or something,” Harry says.

“Sure,” Cara says flatly, “he’s got quite the intense look, hasn’t he?”

“Will you stop staring at him, _Christ_ ,” Harry says, pinching her arm.

Cara laughs, pressing back against the couch. “You’re just being obnoxiously unaware, aren’t you? Pretending you don’t know?”

“We can stop talking about this at any time, you know,” Harry says, tugging on a piece of her hair. 

“Alright, alright,” Cara relents, and Harry relaxes a bit. He half expects her to give him a warning - something along the lines of “be careful, Harry” - but it never comes.

After all this time, she still gets him. A testament to knowing each other for nearly a decade, probably. 

“I should check on Niall,” Harry says, bracing his hands on his knees to get up.

Cara nods. “I should go soon anyway. Have to pack for another semester.”

“When do you leave?” Harry asks.

“Next week,” Cara responds, standing up when Harry does. “Next time I see you you’ll probably be some big car company owner. Wearing expensive suits, drinking champagne for breakfast.”

“Doubt that,” Harry says.

He pulls her in for a hug, her arms wrapped around him as they stand there. Harry’s never really been one for goodbyes himself, smiling at her when they pull apart. “I’m sure you’ll catch me up on everything, when you’re back.”

“‘Course. I’ll be showing off my gallery opening of all my tastefully nude pictures of you,” she says.

“God, I hope not,” Harry mumbles into her hair before they step apart, giving a final wave before he goes into the kitchen again.

Niall’s no longer there, but Liam is, waving Harry over. 

“Got to hand it to Brez, he always knows how to throw a party,” Harry says, opening up the fridge.

“Always lives up to his reputation,” Liam agrees, now behind him. “Anything good?”

Looking through some shelves, there isn’t much. All he can manage to find is a cheese plate, with some cellophane wrapped loosely around it. 

“Better than nothing,” Harry says, putting it onto the counter.

Him and Liam take a few pieces, a handful of people stumbling in and out of the kitchen while they do so. Opening a water bottle from beside him, Harry glances over at Liam before asking, “So what are your plans for the future, Liam?”

Liam nearly chokes, apparently caught off-guard. “Were you trying to do an impersonation of my father? Because that was spot on.”

Harry smirks, shrugging. “You going to answer the question or not.”

“God,” Liam starts, looking about as terrified at answering it as Harry feels, rubbing his hands along his face. Even thinking of the word future makes Harry feel like he’s in over his fucking head. “I’m just - you know.”

“Sounds about the same as me,” Harry says, taking another bite of cheese. 

“Probably something to do with my dad’s company, not quite sure what yet though,” Liam adds. 

Nodding in understanding, Harry takes another drink of his water. Somewhere in the next room, he can hear Niall talking loudly above the chatter, probably bragging about winning beer pong. 

“Isn’t that what we’re all destined for,” Harry says sarcastically, bracing both hands against the counter.

“The way I see it, when my dad’s gone - it’ll just be me. So it can’t be all bad, really,” Liam says.

Chewing on a grape, Harry responds, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Liam opens his mouth to say something else, when Louis comes through the doorway. And, avoiding Harry’s gaze, says, “I’m going home. Gotta be up early, to look after the girls.”

Harry pauses. Liam nods at him, “Sure, course. I’ll see you Monday.”

“Monday it is, Payno,” Louis says, clasping his shoulder briefly. And, without so much as one look Harry’s way, he’s gone.

“I’ll be right back,” Harry says. Liam doesn’t say anything more, just lets Harry go.

Louis is pushing his way through the crowd of people, apparently very determined to get the fuck out of here as fast as he can, at the speed of fucking lightening. 

Finally reaching him, Harry gently grips Louis’ arm. He pulls away instantly, recoiling, and Harry honestly has no idea what the fuck is going on. 

“Should I - come with? Is everything alright?” Harry asks, confused and breathless from practically running all through Bressie’s house to catch up with him.

Louis stares at him a moment, as if Harry should have a clue what the fuck is happening. “Not gonna tell you what to do, Styles.”

Harry pretends Louis using his last name isn’t some kind of step back for them. Instead, asks, “Am I missing something?”

Someone’s strumming a guitar on the front lawn, and it stinks of weed. “You tell me,” Louis very unhelpfully responds.

He’s got his keys out already, gripping them tight, as if ready to go at any given moment. Harry feels like he’s on some sort of time limit, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“If you’re pissed at me you’re going to have to tell me why,” Harry says.

Louis scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, and walks away. Bewildered and unsure, Harry follows after him, Louis’ frame illuminated by the dim moonlight above them and streetlights. They parked a few blocks away, needing to walk a little ways before actually reaching his car. 

Harry feels guilty, but he has no fucking idea why. He can make out the way Louis is hunched, maybe due to the colder night air - but maybe also because of whatever the fuck it is he refuses to talk about. 

By the time they reach the car, Harry isn’t sure how to read Louis. He doesn’t look as pissed as he did before - but still the silence between them is deafening. 

Harry waits. Doesn’t want to say something he could, and most likely would, regret. Louis paces in front of the driver’s door, keys still out, his nearly too-big white shirt clinging from his frame, before finally looking at Harry.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Louis’ question sounds so loud in the hushed air of three am. Like some sort of secret between them being exposed.

“Right now?” Harry asks in response.

Looking away from him, Louis shakes his head. “I just need to know if we’re doing this or not.”

Harry chews his lower lip. He’s out of his depth, and Louis feels just out of reach, standing there. “I don’t give a shit what anyone says about you, but it’s hard to ignore when it feels like we’re toeing on the possibility of - something, anything.”

Something. Anything. The words repeat in Harry’s head, like a mantra, and he’s frozen there on the sidewalk, unable to do anything about it. 

Louis stops pacing; Harry feels like his heart has stopped, staring at him. “What anyone says about me?” Harry asks; his mouth feels dry, hands clammy. Mostly at the mere thought that this could be the last conversation he has with Louis, ever.

“Your fucking - reputation. Our history, or whatever,” Louis clarifies, running a hand through his hair. Harry wants to curl a hand around his waist, pull him in. “That doesn’t mean anything - not a fucking thing. I just want to know.”

He’s not pleading, but there’s something real in Louis’ tone. Face pulled into a tight expression, waiting. 

His reputation. Harry’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his fucking chest. Wants them to get in the car and drive, anywhere. Without any responsibility, nothing to worry about - just the two of them, on the open road. No destination, no maps, nothing. Just the two of them, just how Harry wants it to be.

“I don’t - know what you’re asking me, Louis,” Harry says, though he’s mostly sure. 

Sighing, Louis says, “I don’t want to put you on the spot. That’s the last fucking thing I want.” He swallows, and Harry fists his hands at his sides, trying to anchor himself in something. “I just need to know if I have a chance, Styles. Just tell me that.”

Harry just about laughs, hearing this. Relief floods through him, real and nearly overwhelming when he says, “Are you fucking kidding me, Louis.”

Louis opens his mouth to respond, probably to say something Harry doesn’t want to hear right now. He crowds him against the driver’s door of his car.

And, right there, with the sound of Bressie’s party still down the street - Harry kisses him. Puts both his hands on the sides of Louis’ face, cradling it gently, and presses his lips against Louis’.

He tastes like gum and something else, he’s hot and warm and it’s enough to nearly get Harry moaning into his mouth. It doesn’t take long for Louis to respond, his mouth demanding and it's got Harry’s head spinning. 

He’s so much, and not enough - Harry can’t get enough, biting down on Louis’ lower lip, one of his hands carding through Louis’ hair. 

When they finally pull apart, Louis mumbles, “Shit.”

Leaning forward, Harry presses his forehead against Louis’ own, thumb swiping along his lower lip. He could probably spend the rest of his night doing just this, against Louis’ car, but knows that when he wakes up for work tomorrow he’s going to be dead on his feet.

“Going to take me home? Or should we continue this conversation,” Harry asks after a moment.

Louis rolls his eyes, leaning into Harry’s hand, still pressed against his cheek. “It’s late,” he says, though sounds like all he wants to do is the opposite when he adds, “I should probably get you home.”

Before they step apart Harry catches Louis’ lower lip before walking around the car to get in. 

“You’re the worst.” Louis tells him as soon as he gets in, turning the key. 

Harry grins over at him, “I know.”

He falls asleep remembering Louis’ lips.

\- 

His father isn’t in the next day at work, Jessica telling Harry that he’s out - meetings all over the city. How convenient, Harry thinks, too swamped with work to think anything beyond that. Besides, it’s sort of nice his dad isn’t around. Makes everything feel less tense, without him breathing down Harry’s neck.

By the time the day’s almost out all Harry has to do is some filing, then he’s good to go. He’s told Niall he’d meet him at some restaurant for dinner. For now, he’s sitting at his desk and going over his notes for the meeting tomorrow.

The sunlight’s hot through the window, distracting from where Harry’s sitting, tugging on the collar of his shirt. 

Beside him, his phone rings. Half expecting it to be his dad, but it's not. “Hello?”

“Harry? Babe?” His mom. “Are you still at work? I can call back -”

“No,” Harry cuts her off gently, “no, it’s fine.”

She pauses, then asks, “How are you, darling?”

“I’m alright,” Harry answers, feeling almost mechanic in how he says it. “How’s the house? Gemma told me she saw it a few weeks ago.”

He can picture his mom sitting in front the room, glass of wine in her hand. “It’s lovely. Think you should come see it soon, if you get the chance.”

Harry smiles, closing his eyes. “Very subtle, mom.”

She laughs, quiet and soft, “Thought I’d put the suggestion out there.”

“How’s Robin?” Harry asks, closing his laptop. 

“He’s good. Working, but that’s the usual,” Anne answers. “I hear you’re also working lots these days?”

Harry swallows, guilt prickling under his skin. “A bit, I guess,” he lies.

“And are you - enjoying it?” 

“It’s something,” Harry says. “Learning a lot.”

It’s not convincing, and he’s sure his mother has caught onto that by now. There’s the sound of movement, then, “So are you enjoying it?”

The sun’s starting to set behind the building now, Harry’s back no longer too hot in its warmth. He’s got half an hour until he’s got to meet Niall, leaning back in his chair.

“Not sure if it’s something you can enjoy,” Harry answers, adjusting his shirt.

Problem is, he’s never been able to lie to his mom. Never has been something he’s good at, when it comes to her. 

“Just because it’s a job doesn’t mean you have to hate it,” Anne continues, not quite yet a lecture. 

“Selling cars hasn’t exactly been a passion of mine,” Harry says.

“You don’t have to do this, Harry. There’s so many other career paths you could take, so many different things you could do,” she says, as if it’s that easy. 

As if, if Harry snaps his fingers, it could all be different. 

“Don’t think dad sees it that way,” Harry says slowly.

“Doesn’t matter how he sees it,” his mom continues, “it’s your future, Harry.”

It’s strange to hear someone say that, when he’s never really seen it that way. He isn’t quite sure how to respond.

“Should go. I’m meeting someone for dinner,” Harry says after a beat of silence.

“It was nice talking to you,” Anne tells him. “Call me sometime next week, alright?”

“Alright,” Harry promises, throat tight.

“Love you,” she says.

“Love you too,” Harry says before hanging up.

The drive to the restaurant is only twenty minutes, Harry stopping to get gas on the way, the conversation with his mom playing and replaying in his mind, as he puts his card into the machine. His dad texted, asking if Harry will be home for dinner tonight - and he has yet to reply.

Niall waves him over, the moment Harry steps through the door. He tells the hostess, giving her an apologetic smile before sliding into the booth across from Niall.

“What’s got you in a mood?” is Niall’s first question, looking over at Harry.

Shrugging, Harry picks up a menu and says, “Nothing. Stop staring at me like that.”

“Ed might stop in for a drink, when he’s done recording,” Niall adds, sliding a glass of water toward Harry.

Harry takes a drink, not bothering to look who’s calling his phone when he already knows. Glancing up, he pauses, giving Niall a pointed look when he asks, “Does Brez work here?”

Niall clears his throat, busying himself with looking at the menu he’d already been staring at when Harry had gotten here. “He might. Not important.”

Raising his eyebrows, Harry kicks his shins under the table. “Why don’t you just ask him out, if you’re going to come out here here and stalk his place of work.”

“Not _stalking_ ,” Niall argues, having issues biting back a grin, cheeks red and avoiding Harry’s gaze. “He told me to come by, so I did.”

Harry snorts, but doesn’t push the issue. They put in their order, Harry’s beer brought to him, and he takes a sip from it.

“Looked like you were having fun at the party, the other night,” Harry remarks.

“Where the fuck did you disappear off to, anyway? One second you were in the kitchen talking to Liam, and then the last I checked everyone said you’d left.” Niall’s got his arms crossed over his chest, drinking his pint. 

“Had something to take care of,” Harry tells him, though it’s not convincing. 

“At two in the morning?” Niall presses, raising an eyebrow curiously, grinning knowingly.

“It wasn’t important,” Harry says simply, shrugging.

Their food comes a little while later, after Niall goes up to the bar and puts in another drink order for himself - making a point of talking to Bressie while doing so. Harry pretends he doesn’t notice, holding back his smirk when Niall comes back, another pint in hand.

Niall shakes his head, but doesn’t push it, instead reaching over to take one of Harry’s fries off his plate. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with Louis, would it?”

Harry clears his throat, shrugs, and says, “I’m here to spend time with you, Niall. Not talk about Louis.”

Across the table, Niall blows him a kiss, grinning as he leans back in his chair. Harry gets them each a shot of whiskey - because why the fuck not - and eventually they’re talking with Ed, Niall’s arm around his shoulder and talking about music and beer.

Taylor shows up a little while later, a number of people packing into the bar. Makes sense, because it’s a Friday night, but still.

Sitting next to Ed and talking about recording, Harry’s phone goes off. Seeing the name on screen he excuses himself, taking a step out the front doors.

“Hello?” he answers, cradling his phone to his shoulder.

A pause. Then, “Hi. I hope this isn’t - weird.”

“Not weird,” Harry assures Louis, leaning against the wall. From inside there’s chatter and muffled music. “Everything alright? You’re missing one hell of a bar night.”

“Bar night? Is that what they’re calling it now,” Louis replies. “More like an excuse for everyone to get drunk without being at the beach.”

“Something like that,” Harry says. “Are you coming?”

“Can’t. Have to look after my sisters. Nanny’s taken the weekend off,” Louis says, sounding on the verge of falling asleep. Harry imagines he’s on the couch or something, head tilted back and eyes puffy from lack of any sort of sleep. 

“Shame,” Harry responds, a car speeding past him. It’s cooler tonight, the beach just a little ways off from where he’s standing. “I’ll talk to you later, though?”

“Yeah, I’ll call you,” Louis says.

“Get some sleep. Sounds like you need it,” Harry says, hearing Louis laugh.

“Dick,” Louis says, though it somehow manages to come out fondly. 

Hanging up, Harry pockets his phone, going back inside. Judging by the loud voices at the front of the bar, it’s karaoke night, and Harry has to bite back a smile when he sees Niall and Ed sharing a microphone. 

He gets a water from Bressie at the bar, taking a sip and watching Taylor filming Niall and Ed with a smile on her face. 

“Niall was hoping you’d join him,” a voice comes from beside him.

Harry looks over, seeing Liam beside him and says, “Last time I sang with him it didn’t end well. I’ve made a pact with myself never to relive it.”

Smiling, Liam nods, leaning back. There’s a bit of a pause before he finally speaks again, “I was hoping we could - talk, maybe.”

Blinking, Harry isn’t sure what to expect. “Sure. To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Payne?”

Sophia’s with Taylor, the two of them laughing loudly with one another. Harry tries to brace himself best he can for whatever it is that’s coming his way.

“Louis,” Liam answers, eyes focused on Sophia.

Harry swallows. He should’ve seen this coming. “What about him?” he asks, tipping back some water into his mouth. 

“You two have been close lately,” Liam starts.

“Oh my God, Liam, are we really doing this?” Harry asks, mortified, rubbing a hand along his face.

“I just - want you to be careful, you know?” Liam’s looking at him now.

“Please,” Harry just about whines, shifting on his stool. “Liam. Spare me the lecture.”

“He talks about you sometimes and for Louis that’s like - a big thing, Harry.” Liam starts in again, and Harry waits. “And I’m not telling you two what to do. I just think you need to be careful, that’s all. Know what you’re getting into.”

Running the finger around the edge of his water, Harry takes in a deep breath. “Don’t worry yourself so much about us,” he says.

“I’m not worried. Just letting you know,” Liam says.

“Are you threatening me, Payne?” Harry asks, holding back a laugh.

“I would never,” Liam tells him, clasping a hand around Harry’s shoulders. When his smile reaches his eyes they crinkle, right at the corners. “Good seeing you, Harry.”

And with that, he’s gone back to Sophia, leaving Harry at the bar. 

Something to remember, probably, Harry tells himself.

-

By the time Harry wakes up the next morning, his father’s already gone. It comes as a relief, walking into the kitchen and not seeing any signs of him.

Louis texts, asking if he’s coming over. Harry says he’ll be by in a bit - taking his time making some eggs, heading into the shower next. 

It’s nearly noon by the time he’s ready to go, taking his keys and phone with him as he goes out the door. 

“Back again? Fourth time this week,” the girl at the coffee shop he frequents says, handing him his usual order.

Harry smirks, sucking on his straw of his iced white chocolate mocha and says, “Keeping track, are you?”

The girl - Olivia, according to her name tag - blushes, then shrugs. “Me and a few of the staff have noticed, that’s all.”

He checks his phone for a text, having sent Louis one asking what drink he wants. _dont want anything, styles_ Louis sent back a few seconds ago. Very useful.

_I’m here now, and Olivia is getting impatient. What do you want?_

_to suck ur dick_ Harry just about drops his phone, holding back what would be a strangled yell and getting another another text, _whos olivia?_

_Coffee? Espresso?_

_wrong. all wrong._

_No coffee?_

_none. do u know me at all_

Harry’s a bit lost here, giving Olivia an apologetic smile, “I’m sorry. He’s a bit - aggressive this morning.”

_something with lots of caramel_

Disgusted, Harry sighs. “Can you do something - with caramel?”

Winking at him, Olivia nods, “Not a problem.”

Harry’s going to kill him, maybe.

-

It’s no surprise to find Louis underneath his car when Harry pulls up. He parks his car at the end of the street, walking up the paved driveway. 

“Nice view,” Harry comments, putting Louis’ drink down onto the counter.

“Fuck off.” Louis’ muffled reply, shifting.

Harry waits, not particularly wanting to get his hands or shirt dirty, pushing his sunglasses up over his head and leaning his hip against the workbench.

A few minutes later, Louis pushes himself out, running a hand through his hair. There’s oil stains on his cheek and hands, though that’s a regular thing Harry’s used to by now. He smirks, handing over the cold cup to him - though most of it is melted now.

“Thanks,” Louis says, taking a sip.

“Anytime,” Harry says, half serious. Louis flips him off and he asks, “How’s the car coming?”

“Fucking shitty,” Louis says right now, the frustration clear in his tone, glaring over at the car. “I need more parts, the ones I got earlier are completely fucked.”

Harry nods, crossing his arms over his chest. He should’ve gotten an extra shot of espresso in his drink, he’s exhausted.

“You want to go get them?” Harry asks after a moment.

Turning, Louis looks at him, uncertain. “Are you sure you want to do that? It’s not fun.”

Snorting, Harry shrugs, “I got nothing else to do. Beats sitting at home waiting for my father to come home.”

“Let’s go,” Louis says, picking up his keys. 

He wipes his hands on the cloth, taking another sip of his drink. They walk out to the second car in the driveway, getting in, and then they’re off.

The place they go to is about forty-five minutes away, though Harry doesn’t really have a clue where they are. He just leans back in his seat, doing his best to keep himself from falling asleep as Louis drives along the highway.

“Why don’t you ever let me drive?” Harry asks.

Keeping his eyes focused ahead, Louis answers easily, “You’re a reckless driver.”

Harry scoffs, looking at him. “How do you even know that? You’ve never seen me drive.”

“Don’t have to see you to know. I know you,” Louis says, turning into a parking lot.

Offended, Harry gets out of the car, an older man greeting them.

“Ah, Louis. Was wondering when you’d turn up,” he says, shaking his head. “Who’s this?”

“Paul - this is Harry,” Louis starts to introduce. “Harry, this is Paul. He owns this place.”

“More like facilitates this kid’s obsession to fix every fucking car he sees,” Paul says. “Go on in. There’s no one back there.”

Louis grins at him, clasping his hand again and says, “You’re a fucking saint, Paul.”

“Stop buying shitty parts from Athens Garage, you hear me? Or I’ll never let you back in here,” Paul says, pointing a finger at Louis.

Backing up with his hands raised, Louis promises, “You have my word.”

“Liar,” Paul mutters, and Harry follows Louis as he takes the chain off the big gate.

That’s a lot of cars, some missing doors, other windows, some seats. There’s parts all around Harry’s feet, and he’s no idea what belongs anywhere, looking around. Thankfully, Louis knows his way around - walks over to a pile, starting to go through it. 

Harry feels useless beside him, but decides it’s probably for the best he doesn’t help look. He’s here for moral support, he reasons with himself, hands behind his back. The sun’s hot, as is typical Los Angeles weather, Harry’s shirt sticking to his back as he hears Louis grunt, clearly not impressed. 

“Styles, can you - come here for a second?” Louis asks.

Harry takes a few steps toward him, slowly, dust swirling around his feet as Louis points to something inside the car’s engine. “Just hold this open while I look,” he says, and Harry nods, doing as he asks.

It’s a few minutes until Louis pulls out whatever he needs, wiping the back of his hand along his forehead. 

“Looks very important,” Harry says flatly.

Louis flicks his arm, pushing some of his fringe out of his forehead when he says, “Don’t speak of what you don’t know.”

Instead of leaving, like Harry assumed they would - Louis keeps walking. He goes around until he reaches a car that looks very similar to the one he’d just had his hands in, tugging the door open. 

Harry watches, pinching his lips together, as Louis looks around. He knows what he wants - he doesn’t hesitate before going in for it, squinting in the bright sunlight.

“Come here often?” Harry asks, hearing Louis laugh.

“We all have our hobbies,” Louis says, getting back out of what little is left of the car.

He doesn’t really go anywhere else, just looks at a few other the other models around them. “My step dad used to take me here - when I was younger. We’d look through all the different stuff, and he’d teach me about all the parts, that kind of thing.”

Hands in his pockets, Harry listens, watching the way Louis’ face moves while he talks, all animated and moving his hands. 

It makes Harry wish him and his dad had something like this, shared between them. He wonders if his dad would even try to find something that they had in common, they could discuss now and again. Bruce Springsteen, maybe. But even that.

The most they talk about at dinner is work, meetings, what’s on the agenda for tomorrow. Harry doesn’t think he’s ever told his dad more than three things about himself.

“What do I owe you?” Louis asks, but Paul just waves a hand.

“Get out of here,” Paul says.

When Louis hesitates, he looks over at him and repeats, “Get out of here, Tomlinson. Don’t make me regret being nice to you.”

With a grin Louis goes back to his car, going back to their usual seating. They drive in silence, Harry’s mind stuck somewhere else, until Louis’ voice breaks through his thoughts.

“You alright over there? Feel like I’ve lost you,” Louis says softly.

The sun’s starting to set, the sky a mixture of orange and red hues. Harry sighs, “Fine. Just thinking, that’s all.”

“Care to share with the class?” Louis asks while merging onto the highway.

The radio’s playing music Harry doesn’t know, Louis’ phone plugged in as Harry taps a finger along to the beat against his thigh. “My dad and I never had a thing.”

It feels weird now, saying it out loud. A moment passes before Louis finally asks, “A thing?”

“You know, like with your stepdad and cars. We’ve never had anything to talk about,” Harry expands, eyes trailing along the highway.

 _This is the road to ruin, and we’re started at the end_ , lyrics play through the speakers, and Harry hopes there’s no real truth to them.

“Just because you didn’t have cards or a sport or anything doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you,” Louis says.

“You agreed that he’s an asshole the other day,” Harry points out.

“Doesn’t mean he doesn't care about you,” Louis says. “You’re still his son.”

 

Harry wishes that were true.

-

Louis calls him a little after eleven in the morning a week later on Saturday, when Harry’s got half a piece of toast in his mouth.

“What are you doing today?” Louis’ immediate question.

“Eating,” Harry says, flipping the next page of the paper.

His dad left a little while ago, the two of them hardly talking this week. He didn’t take well to Harry’s ignoring him the weekend before, and has spent as little time at home as possible. Which works out better for Harry, actually, not having his father around quite as much.

“Charming,” Louis says flatly.

“Have to go bring some stuff to my sister at work later,” Harry adds, taking a drink of his coffee. “Really exciting stuff.”

When Louis doesn’t answer Harry pauses before asking, “Do you want to come with?”

“Don’t know, after you gave quite the convincing sales pitch,” Louis remarks.

“I’ll try to make it more fun,” Harry promises, “just need to have a shower first.”

“You’re a fucking idiot Styles,” Louis says, and Harry wonders if he’s blushing. “Come get me when you’re done with your - shower.”

“Oh, I will,” Harry says, hanging up and making his way to the bathroom.

His father left a stack of paper for Harry to read over, when he gets out of the shower. He dries his hair and puts on a shirt, looking over the first page. For another time, he tells himself, putting on a pair of pants and going out the door.

Louis is waiting on the front step when Harry pulls up, not in his usual position underneath a car, cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Putting it out, he walks up to the passenger’s seat, getting in.

“You’re letting me drive? I think I need to document this,” Harry says.

Rolling his eyes, Louis mutters a hardly threatening, “Fuck off.”

“Aren’t you cheerful today,” Harry says, pulling out onto the street.

“Where are we going?” Louis asks, picking up Harry’s phone to look through music. “Do you have anything on here that anyone knows?”

“Not telling. And that’s enough,” Harry chastises, getting onto the highway.

The roads are pretty clear, considering it’s a Saturday afternoon, so he has no complaints. Gemma texted him a little while ago, asking if he was coming soon - so Harry figures since he’s running late, he should probably hurry the fuck up.

“You have more Mumford and Sons than anyone should have on their phone,” Louis comments.

Harry snorts, running a hand through his still slightly damp hair. “Didn’t know you were the authority on what music people should have on their phones.”

“I’m not,” Louis snaps, “you drive just how I thought you would, by the way.”

Casting him a quick glance, Harry asks, “Please do share.”

“You hardly look where you’re going. You’re reckless - you keep your foot pressed all the way down on the gas. You’re hard as fuck on your brakes -” Louis stops himself; Harry can see him look over at him from the corner of his eye. “Should I continue?”

“Didn’t know you had such strong feelings on my brakes,” Harry says, taking the next exit.

“I _don’t_. I’m just letting you know they’re going to give out in the next year or two, maybe sooner,” Louis says, with the air of a doctor diagnosing.

“I’ll just give you a call when that happens,” Harry says, winking.

Louis scoffs, but doesn’t say anything else as Harry pulls up on the side of a street. “Why are we in Culver City?” 

“Don’t sound so appalled. I won’t tell anyone you were here,” Harry says, ignoring the middle finger Louis gives him. “My sister works around here.”

Taking that as an acceptable answer, Louis follows him down the street. Harry hasn’t been here in months - too busy with work to make his way to this area. They stop off at a small coffee shop, a bell going off when Harry opens the door.

They each get a drink and sandwich, Harry pushing his sunglasses over his eyes as they start back onto the street, sucking on his iced drink in the heat. Looking over at Louis, he smirks.

“What’s so funny, Styles,” Louis barks.

“Not as bad as you thought it would be, is it?” Harry asks, reaching over to pinch Louis’ cheek.

“Why are you such a dick?” Louis asks, fingers wrapping around Harry’s wrist briefly before releasing them.

Harry doesn’t answer him, instead opening up a glass door before tossing his now empty cup and sandwich bag into the garbage.

“What, got lost on the way?” Gemma’s voice comes almost instantly as Harry steps inside.

“You’re welcome for bringing you this,” Harry says, offering her the bag. 

“I appreciate it, little brother,” Gemma says, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. She pauses, however, when she spots Louis. “Well this is a - surprise.”

“Gemma, you know Louis. Louis - this is my sister, Gemma,” Harry introduces.

She shakes his hand, giving a warm, gentle smile. “Sorry you had to put up with my brother today.”

“It’s mostly his driving that’s the problem,” Louis says, and Gemma laughs, nodding in agreement.

“Heyyyyyyy,” Harry says, pouting.

“I promised Harry he could have a look at the show, before it opens tonight. So you’re both welcome to look around,” Gemma says. “I have a few last minute things to do, but I’ll come say goodbye before you go.”

“Thanks, Gem,” Harry says, nodding for Louis to follow him.

“What even is this place?” Louis asks, walking alongside him.

“It’s called Thinkspace,” Harry starts, hands in his pockets. “Gemma’s been working here almost a year now, I think. New age kind of art, that sort of thing.”

Louis hums, following along the exhibit. If he’s out of his element he doesn’t look it, or pretends not to - stopping with Harry in front of whatever picture catches his eye. 

Gemma’s been talking about this particular exhibit, An Edited Version of Life, for weeks now, texting Harry about it - and he can now see why. She’s been mostly in charge of this one.

When Harry looks over at Louis, he’s a few feet behind - looking at a few of the pieces. He wonders if he’s possibly overstepped, taking Louis to this, meeting Gemma. But he doesn’t look all that uncomfortable, too busy looking to notice Harry looking at him.

They’ve been wandering for a good twenty minutes until Harry finally asks, “What do you think?”

“It’s pretty sick, actually,” Louis answers. 

He looks down, smiles, fingers loosely wrapped around Louis’ wrist as they walk to the end of the exhibit.

Harry goes over to hug his sister goodbye, promising he will see more of her. “And you’re going to tell me about your new friend later, right?” she asks pointedly, poking his chest.

“Yes, yes, stop - he can hear you,” Harry says, but she just grins. “Terrible. Bye, Gem.”

“So I shouldn’t tell my friend Chloe you’re single?”

“Absolutely terrible. I’m leaving now. Never coming back,” Harry says, cheeks hurting from smiling as they step back outside.

“So. Where to now?” Louis asks after a moment. 

“There’s a few places we could go, if you wanted,” Harry says, “though you’d have to put up with more of my driving.”

Rolling his eyes, Louis shoves Harry lightly and says, “Let’s go, then.”

-

Harry’s first thought is to take Louis where his mom used to take him, when his dad was gone and they had the house to themselves.

“My mom used to take me here - when I was younger,” Harry explains, licking off the spoon of his frozen yogurt.

Louis’ lips are red from his, Harry notices, when he asks, “What did you all do?”

It feels like he was here yesterday, tugging on his mom’s arm and begging to take him anywhere he wanted to go. “There was this market - just up the street. I could spend hours in there, but I don’t think my mom really wanted to go for that.”

Louis laughs, quietly, nodding. “Sounds like you,” he says.

Harry doesn’t argue him on that, walking along. The market is still there - shelves stocked high and filled with the same ridiculous things he was always so intrigued by. 

After having to practically pry a small water gun out of Louis’ hands, Harry puts it back, the two of them starting down most of the aisles. This goes on for a while, and after Louis has frozen yogurt smudged along his face, they decide that is probably enough for one day.

Before they go, though, Harry takes him down Carroll Avenue, where him and his mom used to spend a lot of their Sunday afternoons. “Used to want to live in one of these houses,” Harry says, turning to see Louis taking a picture with his phone.

“You probably still can,” Louis says, sounding strangely reminiscent.

His nose is burnt from walking around most of the day, going back to Harry’s car. “Maybe,” Harry says, shrugging.

“Where is she now? Your mom,” Louis asks.

“Moved to San Francisco, after the divorce,” Harry answers, approaching his car. 

“My dad fucked off to Portland, so. I get it,” Louis says. “Except I don’t talk to him anymore really.”

Harry nods in understanding, but before he can say anything else. Louis adds, “But that’s for another day, isn’t it, Styles?”

“How did you feel about today?” Harry’s question hangs in the air, as Louis takes a step toward him.

The car is hot against Harry’s back when Louis slots him easily between them. Harry finds himself inhaling sharply, one of Louis’ warm hands coming to rest behind his neck, tugging him closer.

Louis tastes like strawberry frozen yogurt, sweet and his tongue is warm when it presses into Harry’s mouth. Harry’s hands go to Louis’ waist, gently as he feels Louis’ chest press up against his own.

When Louis finally pulls back Harry hopes he can’t feel the way his dick is already half-hard in his jeans, lips raw from Louis’ stubble brushing against his upper lip. 

“Does that answer your question, Styles?” Louis asks, opening the door.

“You’re a menace,” Harry huffs out, going to the driver’s side. 

Louis just grins at him as they drive off.

-

 _We still going to the movie tonight? I’ll pick you up._ Harry sends from work, only working a half day one Friday afternoon.

 _probably have to cancel. nanny is sick, so i have to watch the girls. sorry :(_ Louis sends back. 

Sighing, Harry checks a text from Niall. Apparently him and Bressie are going to a bar tonight - and Nick’s got himself an interview at a movie premiere. Unbelieveable, Harry’s friends all have lives except him. He is sad and pathetic.

 _Why don’t we hang with your sisters?_ Harry sends back. He’s borderline desparate. 

_ru kidding me styles. dont willingly put urself thru this_

_It’s hot as fuck outside, let’s take them to the beach or something._

_dont say i didnt warn you. come by whenever_

With only ten minutes left of work Harry starts collecting his things, deciding to call it a day. He gives Jessica one last wave before heading out of the office, back to his car.

He makes a detour, stopping off at home and picking up stuff before heading out. It’s the first time he’s ever been in Louis’ house, Harry realizes, when he reaches the front door. Louis opens it moments after Harry’s rung the doorbell, hair a mess and tank top hanging off his shoulder.

“Come on in,” Louis says, “you sure you’re up for this?”

Harry shrugs, hearing a shriek from the next room. “Should be easy, right?”

Louis scoffs, turning his head to look into the next room, “Daisy, give your sister her doll back right now, or you’re not coming to the beach.” The sound of loud whining, then, “Do you all want to come and meet Harry?”

There’s the sound of feet shuffling along the floor, and a number of heads appearing in the doorway. 

“Hello,” Harry says, waving a hand.

“Harry, these are my sisters - Lottie, Daisy, Fizzy, Phoebe - and Doris and Ernest in their play pen,” Louis introduces.

Harry blinks. There’s no way he’s going to remember all their names, he thinks in mild panic. 

“He’s kind of hot,” one of the girls - Lottie, Harry maybe thinks - says.

“That’s enough,” Louis says firmly, “go upstairs and get your things, yeah?”

The girls all go, giving Harry one last look before going up the stairs. When Louis makes sure they’re all gone he goes over to Harry, leaning his face against his shoulder. “How are you holding up?” Harry asks. Louis grunts in response.

It’s a few minutes until the girls all come down, Louis picking up one of the twins, Ernest from their play pen, Harry bending down to pick up Doris.

“Go get all your things into the van,” Louis tells Daisy, Harry reminds himself, kissing her head as she goes off into the garage. “This is a terrible idea.”

Harry curls a gentle hand around his waist, lingering and his lips brushing the shell of Louis’ ear when he says, “I’m sure I’ve had worse ideas.”

-

Turns out, keeping track of all the girls while wandering the beaches of LA is… a bit of work.

Harry’s got Doris pressed to his chest, cradling her carefully while pushing the stroller with the other hand, Louis trying to make sure the girls in front all stick together. At one point Lottie gets distracted in a store and it takes them a full ten minutes before finding her - and Harry’s sure he’s never seen Louis more stressed before in all the weeks of knowing him.

But they love him, that much is clear from Harry spending a short amount of time with them. Right now, though, Daisy is tugging on his hand and begging for candy from a chocolate shop - practically having to drag him on the sidewalk to get him to go inside of the store.

“She’s obsessed with sweets,” Louis says, his arm and wrist red from his little sister’s grasp, “gets it from me, I think.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” Harry says flatly, and Louis gives him a look.

By the time they actually end up at the beach, Harry’s exhausted - but Doris is fast asleep in his arms, and Ernest is sitting in the stroller, looking perfectly content.

“Are you and my brother dating?” Fizzy asks. Harry just about chokes on nothing.

“Oh my God, Fiz, leave him alone,” Louis practically barks at her, pulling her under his arm. The sand is hot against their feet, stroller a bit more difficult to maneuver as Harry pushes it through to where Louis decides to sit.

Harry lays back on the blanket, legs propped up with Louis leaning against them. The girls go in for a swim, the twins sitting under the shade of the umbrella. Doris wakes up eventually, yawning and using her little hands to rub at her eyes, staring up at Harry.

“I think she likes you,” Louis says after a moment, chin propped against Harry’s knee. “Though I haven’t a clue why.”

Harry snorts, rolling his eyes. “We don’t need you,” he says, the tiny girl now laying on his chest.

Ernest is in Louis’ lap, eating the small bits of apple he feeds him. It’s a perfect day; not a cloud in the sky, the water warm and Doris is chewing on Harry’s finger like this is the happiest she could ever be.

Louis looks almost golden in the sunlight, lips pulled up into a grin where he’s talking to Ernest, hair fallen across his forehead but he doesn’t even seem to notice. 

Eventually the girls come back, wet and laughing loudly with one another, as Louis gets them all their towels. There’s sand clinging to their still wet legs, kicking it at one another and giggling.

“Keep that up and there’ll be no sand left on the beach,” Louis says, handing them their clothes once they’re well and dry.

The way back to the car is quiet, the girls tired out and lagging behind - Louis having to walk along with them. They stop for candy on the way back, each of them picking a bag of something and Louis taking them all up to the counter.

“You’re feeding their unhealthy habit,” Harry says as they leave, still pushing the stroller.

Louis shrugs, half a piece of licorice hanging out of his mouth when he says, “I’m their brother, not their mother, Styles.”

Harry laughs, knocking his forehead against Louis’ temple briefly before they get back to the car. 

He kisses Louis in their driveway, when the girls are all going inside and the twins are still in the car seats - he tastes like licorice.

-

“Louis, honey, did you fill up the van? Dan and I have an appointment with the twins tomorrow and -”

They’re sitting on the couch, exhausted from making and serving dinner, watching a movie. Harry glances over, seeing Louis’ mom - Jay, in the doorway. In all of Harry’s years knowing /who/ the Tomlinsons are, he’s never actually met Jay before. Though he’s sure she knows who he is.

“Oh. I didn’t know you had a guest,” she finishes awkwardly.

“Sorry, mom, this is Harry. Harry, this is my mom,” Louis says.

“Feel free to call me Jay,” she says immediately, with all sincerity behind it. Harry nods, slowly.

“Nice to meet you,” he says.

“You helped Louis looked after the kids today?” Another nod. Jay smiles, “Taking on quite the feat, aren’t you?”

“Something like that,” Harry says, and she laughs. He doesn’t move his arm where it’s draped loosely around Louis’ shoulders. “They’re great kids though, really.”

“Thank you,” Jay says. “I’m just putting the girls down, then Dan and I are probably going to head up with the twins. You’re okay to lock up Lou?”

“Sure,” Louis responds, leaning in for the kiss she puts on his cheek.

“Lovely to meet you Harry,” she says.

“You too, Jay,” Harry responds. With a final wave she’s gone, footsteps heard going back up the stairs.

“Don’t go charming my mom like that. It’s weird,” Louis says, pinching Harry’s side.

“What the fuck -” Harry starts, holding Louis’ hand to stop from any further pinching, “I was being _nice_.”

Louis makes a face, leaning back against the couch. He doesn’t move his hand. A few minutes later, Harry asks, “Does this mean you think I’m charming?”

“It means I think you’re an idiot.” Louis doesn’t look at him when he says this, but Harry can see him smiling, just a little.

-

It’s nearly two in the morning when their movie finishes, and Harry has neither the want nor the will power to drive himself home. 

“You can stay in my room. My mom and stepdad are leaving early in the morning, so they won’t notice. Or really care, for that matter,” Louis offers Harry after walking him to the door, most likely noticing he’s practically asleep on his feet.

“They’ll notice my car in the driveway,” Harry points out.

Louis snorts, muffled in the nighttime. “C’mon Styles, up you go.”

Harry follows him up the stairs, feeling the warm press of Louis’ palm against his own, not having any idea where the fuck he’s going. 

“What, do you sleep in the attic?” Harry asks, going up another flight of stairs.

Louis opens the door, stepping inside, and even in the dark - Harry can see posters along his walls. 

There’s a bathroom attached to Louis’ room, Harry wincing when he turns on the light and steps inside, letting some cold water into his hands and onto his face. 

His dad texts him, wondering where the hell Harry is - but he doesn’t respond. Instead, going back into Louis’ room he looks around, hearing the bathroom door close behind Louis.

Posters of football players, some pictures of him and his sisters, clothes across the floor and his blankets a pile at the end of his bed. Somehow, exactly how Harry pictured his room was going to look like. 

“Like what you see?” Louis jokes, no longer wearing a shirt. 

Harry’s mouth feels dry, blinking slowly. Suddenly, he doesn’t feel so tired. “I mean. It’s a mess.” 

Louis smirks, shrugging, sitting on the edge of his bed. His phone died hours ago, but he puts it onto the bedside table, plugging it in. 

“You expected it to be neat and orderly?” Louis asks, watching Harry as he walks across the room to sit beside him.

“Well. No,” Harry says.

There’s a small silence, and Harry’s not sure how to read into it. Feels strangely exposed, sitting in nothing but his t shirt and boxers, Louis with no shirt, both sitting on his bed.

Totally casual and fine, Harry thinks, exhaling slowly. Every part of him feels like it’s on edge, not even sure what he’s waiting for when Louis finally says, “Thanks for putting up with my sisters today.”

“They’re really great,” Harry says, shifting. 

The next silence feels weighted, and when Harry puts a gentle hand on Louis’ waist he responds almost immediately - turning to face him. Harry’s hair isn’t tied up, falling around his face as he presses his forehead against Louis’, going still there.

He can hear Louis swallow thickly. Harry’s feeling like his breath is caught in his throat as he just barely brushes his lips against Louis’, carefully.

Harry feels hot and cold all at once, heart racing in his chest when Louis finally actually kisses him - hot and a needy press of their lips together. It doesn’t take long before Harry’s got his tongue running along the seam of Louis’ lower lip, enjoying the soft, high-pitched sound he makes in response.

With a hand tugging on Harry’s shirt, he can feel the pads of Louis’ fingers against his hip - hot and asking a silent question. Pulling away for just a moment Harry takes off his shirt, Louis moving to get his pants off in a frenzy of taking clothes off. 

Harry’s nearly panting against Louis’ lips, heart racing. It feels like there’s not enough time to run his hands over Louis’ skin, put it to memory - not when he’s already half hard. 

Louis seems to catch on quick enough, brushing his fingers against Harry’s dick through the fabric of his boxers. Immediately, Harry inhales quickly - hips moving up in response. 

Humming, Louis helps Harry get them off - his cock pressing heavily against his stomach as Harry tips his head back, trying to even out his breathing. 

By the time Louis has got a hand around Harry’s dick he knows he’s not going to last long, but when Louis presses his tongue into the slit of his cock - Harry bites back a moan, closing his eyes tight.

One of Louis’ hands is gently gripping Harry’s thigh, keeping himself in place as he sucks on the end of Harry’s dick - seeming to be enjoying himself when Harry finally opens his eyes, seeing Louis nestled between his legs.

“You alright there Styles?” Louis asks, grinning.

“Shut up,” Harry barely manages to get out.

Harry’s fully hard now, cock aching with one of Louis’ hands still wrapped around the base of it. All he can hear is the pounding in his head, feeling the hot, wet heat of Louis’ mouth around his dick - taking him in more.

He fists Louis’ sheets, breathing out his nose and trying to keep himself steady - not wanting to rock up into Louis’ mouth. 

It feels so _good_ and Harry knows he’s close to seeing stars, pulling on Louis’ hair as a silent warning. Louis doesn’t stop, though - keeps taking Harry in, and when he pulls off once he runs his tongue along the underside of Harry’s dick, teasing and slow.

“Fuck,” Harry chokes out, cutting himself off when Louis takes him all the way into his mouth.

Louis pulls off before he finally comes, letting Harry spill over his own stomach - breathing heavily as Louis strokes him through it, thumbing the end of his cock as Harry pants against his chest.

There’s a bit of come on Louis’ lower lip, Harry kissing it off, tasting himself in Louis’ mouth. 

It takes a few minutes for Harry to come down from that, Louis pressing kisses along his neck - up his jawline, sucking on his skin. Enough to send another wave of pleasure through Harry, lightly biting Louis’ shoulder, his come drying on his stomach.

“Your turn,” Harry says, breathless.

Louis doesn’t argue when Harry gets a hand on him, feeling his already mostly hard dick in his hand, stroking him slowly - up and down, like he knows how to do. 

He makes these short, high pitched breathy sounds - lips dragging against Harry’s collarbone, as if trying to keep himself in check. But by the time Harry’s thumbing at his slit Louis puts a hand on his waist, gripping.

Whispering filth into his ear Harry feels the puffs of breath against his skin, nosing along his hairline and feeling the clench of Louis’ stomach against his arm. 

“Like that?” Harry asks, moving his hand faster.

All Louis can manage to do is nod before coming into Harry’s hand. He noses along Louis’ hairline, sitting up to get a wet flannel to clean them up with. He wipes the nearly dried come off his stomach, doing Louis next. The time reads four in the morning.

Harry falls asleep with Louis’ arm around his waist, more content than he’s felt in months.

Just before he passes out, Harry mumbles, “Heads up.”

“I’m going to cut your dick off in your sleep,” Louis tells him, half-asleep.

-

When Harry goes out into the kitchen the next Monday morning, his father is at the table - as if waiting for him. He pauses in the doorway, hand under his shirt where he’s scratching his stomach and mumbles, “Morning.”

“Where have you been?” his father asks immediately, nearly throwing the newspaper down onto the table. 

Getting some coffee, Harry doesn’t look over at his father. Says, “I’ve been out.”

“I didn’t get you a car so you could go parading around the city, Harry. I got you one so you could get to and from work - focus more on your job,” he starts in.

Not even giving Harry a chance to wake up. How inconsiderate, Harry thinks briefly, taking a piece of toast left on the counter.

“Are we going to talk about my job performance again? Because it didn’t go over well last time,” Harry says, crossing one arm over his chest - the other holding up his coffee mug.

“Because I don’t want you walking around not giving a fuck about this.”

The coffee’s too hot. Burns Harry’s tongue when he takes a sip, wincing. “I give a fuck about it, actually,” Harry says, breaking the silence. “I thought we yelled about this already? Seems useless to do it again.”

He can see his father’s lips pressed into a thin line; means he’s going to go off at any given moment. “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it, if you already understand what I’m trying to say.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one deciding, though?” Harry’s question causes another abrupt silence. His father’s very still at the table. “What my future is, how I’m going to spend it?”

“You’re going to take over my company. I’m going to pass it on to you, that’s what we’ve talked about -”

“We never talked about it,” Harry cuts him off. “You’ve always just assumed I was going to take over. What if I wanted something different? I have a fucking business degree from Stanford, I can do a lot with that.”

“You went to Stanford because it was the best education you could receive, with all the intentions of coming back and taking over once you graduate.”

“That’s all I am to you? Just someone to take over your company when you’re gone? Real nice, dad. Makes a kid feel special.” Harry puts down his mug, suddenly no longer in the mood for anything to eat. 

“What are you on about, Harry? You’ve never had a problem with this before. This is what you _want_.”

Harry laughs, the sound cold and detached. “That might be the problem. You’ve never asked me. Always assumed.”

“I don’t have patience for your sarcasm this morning. We’ve got a meeting in less than an hour -”

“Oh, I’m not going. Didn’t you get my email?” 

His dad blinks. “Get dressed. We’re going.”

“Have fun. I’m going to go waste away my future driving around the city,” Harry says, giving a small wave. 

Leaving his plate on the table and taking his briefcase, his dad closes the door harder than Harry’s ever heard it close before. 

-

Niall’s waiting for him out front, sunglasses over his eyes when Harry parks on the street outside his apartment, getting out.

“You alright?” Niall asks, immediately concerned. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

“Got into a fight with my dad,” Harry explains, putting his keys into his pocket.

“Greg’s gone, so we can hang out inside, if you want. Go smoke a joint or something if you want to, you know. Relax.”

Harry smirks, putting an easy arm around Niall’s shoulders and pull him close, “Know exactly how to cheer a guy up, Horan.”

A little while later, Harry’s on Niall’s couch - stoned, and playing video games. The controller being held loosely in his hands, an open bags of chips beside him.

Harry’s losing, badly, and Niall’s trying to let him win - but it’s not really working. Though he appreciates the effort, he doesn’t comment on it, just keeps playing with Niall and tries to forget how this morning went.

Louis texted, saying when he’s done with his sister’s he’ll come by Niall’s and pick him up. Until then, however, Harry’s got his legs across Niall’s lap and not winning a single round of any game they place.

“Think you’ve gotten worse, Harry,” Niall says, smiling loosely at him.

Harry smirks, nodding, reaching over to briefly pinch Niall’s cheek. “Haven’t played in a while. Bit out of shape.”

“That’s true,” Niall agrees, laughing when Harry makes a face. “Been too long, feels like.”

“Kind of hungry,” Harry comments, poking at Niall’s wrist.

“There’s a frozen yogurt place, down the street,” Niall says. “You wanna go?”

They get up, taking their time - Harry ‘borrowing’ one of Niall’s plaid shirts from his closet, putting it over his white t shirt. Niall wasn’t wrong, it’s under five minutes away.

It takes a while for them to get their orders together - taking their time putting toppings on, Niall dumping nearly an entire container of mochi on top of Harry’s.

“You want to talk about it?” Niall asks as they walk along back to his place, sunglasses back over his eyes.

“Not really,” Harry says slowly, running a hand through his hair. “Just the normal fight, I guess. About my future.”

Niall nods, keeping in step walking alongside him. “What happened?”

“I don’t even know anymore, the same fucking thing always happens. He gets upset, tells me I do fuck all, and then I try to tell him he’s controlling and forcing me to do something with my life I don’t want to do,” Harry tells him, shrugging.

“So you don’t want to do it? Run your dad’s company?” Niall asks, because it’s a reasonable thing to want to know.

“No,” Harry answers. 

“He’ll come around eventually, right? And if not he can’t like - force you to do it, can he?”

Niall’s question hangs in the air, most of Harry’s frozen yogurt now melted as he stirs it around a bit and says, “We’ll just have to wait and see I guess.”

Clasping his shoulder briefly, Niall opens the door to his apartment, letting the two of them back inside.

 

-

Louis says he doesn’t plan on coming until after seven, Niall and Harry spending some time in the kitchen making dinner. Or, Niall makes dinner - Harry stands around and cuts up whatever vegetable Niall throws in his direction.

“Team work,” Niall said, rolling his eyes.

The dinner’s good - better than Harry could’ve ever put together, sitting at Niall’s table and hearing Greg come in a little while later.

“So you and Bressie -” Harry starts. Niall clears his throat, awkwardly staring down at his plate. “You going to tell me about that?”

“Do you want more water? I can get some -” Niall starts but Harry shakes his head, cutting him off.

“As your best friend, I would’ve thought you’d tell me by now…” Harry trails off, leaning back in his chair.

“Unfair,” Niall says, pointing a finger at Harry, “playing the best friend card.”

Harry snorts, “You forced my hand.”

“Then you tell me about whatever is going on with you and Louis,” Niall bargains. 

“Fine,” Harry agrees.

Niall runs a hand through his hair. “We’re just, I don’t know. Hanging out? He kissed me, the other day. We were at his house fucking around - smoking up, kicking his ass at video games. And he just, leaned over and kissed me. Like it was the easiest fucking thing in the world. He’s fucking with my head, Harry, I swear.”

Harry grins. “Sounds like you don’t mind, though.”

“We’ll see where it goes. I’ll - keep you updated,” Niall says, cheeks visibly red under the lighting in his sitting room.

“I appreciate you thinking of me,” Harry jokes. Niall flips him off, smiling behind his glass.

“Louis?” Niall presses.

Greg’s whistling through the apartment, giving the two of them a wave before going into his room. Once the door’s closed, Harry starts, “We’re, you know. Hanging out.”

Niall raises an eyebrow, smirking.

“Hanging out and - you know. Going for drives, and stuff. I met his sisters the other day. Took them to the beach,” Harry says. 

Niall pauses, then says, “You met his sisters? Shit, Harry.”

“What?” Harry asks, confused.

“Are you two like - dating? Or something? Because that’s what it sounds like,” Niall says.

“I don’t know. Maybe? We haven’t like - talked about it,” Harry responds.

“Sounds like we both need to do some talking,” Niall says.

“Probably,” Harry says in agreement.

-

By the time Louis shows up, him and Niall are back on the couch playing video games. “You want to come?” Harry asks, seeing a text from Louis that he’s just pulled up.

Niall makes a face, controller dropped into his lap, “Going to go out in a bit, I think. Meet Bress when he’s done work. Thanks, though.”

Harry smirks, leaning over to hug Niall before getting up - not taking off Niall’s shirt, deciding it’ll be too cold to go without it, saying one final goodbye before heading to the door. Louis’ car on the side of the road is familiar, the lights on when Harry gets into the front seat.

“You ready to go?” Louis asks.

Harry swallows thickly, nodding, and Louis pulls out onto the road. 

He drives. Drives and drives until pulling to a stop, getting some food along the way. Louis reaches into the back seat to get it, Harry following him out.

They’re at a beach. The beach they went to the other night, with Louis’ friends, Harry realizes after a moment. 

“Come on,” Louis says gently, hand wrapping around Harry’s.

Harry lets himself go easily, intertwining their fingers with the last bit of sunset along the horizon. The water’s quiet, hardly moving - looking like glass.

Makes something settle in Harry’s chest, sitting beside Louis. It’s different without all the people around, feels like they own this beach - if that were at all possible, just the two of them, no one else.

“You can talk about it, if you want,” Louis offers finally.

“It’s always the same thing,” Harry says. 

They stay until it gets dark, walking back to Louis’ car. He talks about his day - looking after the girls (apparently Lottie, Daisy, and Fizzy made him sit through the Fault in Our Stars. _Twice_.) and working on his car. Harry listens, thankful for his voice to fill the silence, their palms warm pressed against one another.

“You know,” Louis says, turning off the highway. “I still haven’t had a ride in _your_ Mercedes.”

Harry snorts, looking over at him. “You only like me for my cars, Tomlinson.”

Scowling, Louis shakes his head. “I was merely making a _comment_ ,” he says.

They’re a few minutes from Harry’s apartment when he says, “Turn left here.”

And Louis does, not asking why. Though he does have a look of uncertainty on his face, as Harry directs him into a small lot. He hasn’t been here in weeks, feels like, when Louis parks. 

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises,” Louis remarks flatly, raising a curious eyebrow. 

Harry rolls his eyes, fingers trailing along the back of Louis’ hand as they walk up to the large doors. He can remember the first time his dad had taken him here, as sort of a right of passage - “showing him the empire,” as he liked to put it. Now, all that’s for Harry here now are some cars he sometimes drives, if he feels like it.

There’s no more commentary when Harry punches in the code, unlocking the door. With no real way of properly introducing it, he lets Louis see it for himself. 

Hasn’t looked like anyone’s been in here for a while, mostly everything how Harry had left it last. Crosses his arms over his chest, seeing Louis glance around. 

“You’ve got my attention now, Styles. My complete, undivided attention,” Louis says.

Taking his hand, Harry leads them across the concrete floor, right up to the car he knows Louis has had his eye on for months now.

“Do you want to drive it?”

They’re standing in front of Harry’s midnight blue Mercedes Benz now, Harry’s apparent Prized Possession. Louis pauses, then gives him a look of near disbelief. 

His question hangs in the air, and Harry finds himself strangely worried that he’s crossed some sort of line. 

Without saying anything Louis leans against the car, pulling Harry in. Kisses him, lips hot and wet, needy and demanding.

Harry’s head is spinning, going easily with Louis’ pull toward him. He opens his mouth up, one of his hands moving to grip Louis’ waist gently, trying to keep himself steady. He can feel the press if Louis’ teeth against his lower lip, causing Harry to groan into his mouth in response. 

He doesn’t even think about the fact that they’re in his father’s private car garage, not when Louis rubs his already half hard cock against Harry’s thigh. Fuck, Harry thinks in a rush of heat through his body. 

Louis’ got a gentle grip on Harry’s shirt, tugging, as if trying to keep himself upright. Letting his hands wander, Harry lets them go to Louis’ ass, squeezing once, twice - shamelessly. Gets enough of a reaction to have Louis pant into his mouth, a breathless - high pitched needy sound following, their bodies now flush against one another.

They’re both hard now, from what Harry can tell. Though it’s hard to be sure through the haze in his head, Louis’ lips red and raw from Harry’s upper lip. Their cocks brush against one another through their jeans and it’s enough to nearly make Harry come right then and there. 

One of Louis’ hands drops down, pressing against Harry’s stomach, his waist - then to his cock. Harry gasps, head spinning with his forehead against Louis’. Unfair, Harry wants to say. But can’t seem to form words very coherently right now, with Louis’ thumb pressing against his cock through his pants.

“Will you fuck me?” Louis asks, breathless, cheeks flushed.

And he looks so fucking _hot_ , is the thing. Harry’s sucking along Louis’ jawline, doesn’t want his mouth to leave his skin for a second, can’t imagine not having contact with him for any amount of time - long or short. 

“What, now?” Harry asks, incredulous. Louis grinds against Harry’s cock, impatient.

“Well,” Louis huffs out, tilting his neck and giving Harry decidedly more access, “yes, Harry, here. Now. Do you think I can wait any longer?”

“ _God_ ,” Harry breathes out against his neck. “Fuck, Louis.”

It’s not like Harry’s proud of keeping lube and condoms in his glove box, but it’s practical. Which usually outweighs anything else, in his opinion, as he unlocks the door for it. Louis doesn’t even comment on it, to Harry’s surprise, when he turns back to look at him.

Because, well.

He’s there, bent over the hood of Harry’s car. Palms spread out in front of him, fringe sticking to his forehead and Harry’s got to remind himself to _breathe_ , looking at him.

“Have you got all day?” Louis asks, breaking Harry from his thoughts. 

Coming up behind him, Harry leans down, pressing a kiss to Louis’ back. Then another, lips trailing as he works his way to unbutton the front of Louis’ jeans. Slowly grinds his cock against Louis’ ass, hearing him let out a pant in response. With his lips still against his skin, Harry quietly asks, “Can I take your shirt off?”

In a silent answer Louis lifts his arms, Harry taking his shirt off and tossing it onto the ground, not giving it a second look. Then, still standing behind him, Harry makes work of getting off Louis’ jeans next, pulling both his underwear and jeans past his bum. 

Louis isn’t trying to keep himself quiet, panting and still making those soft - high pitched sounds where Harry’s still standing behind him. Gently guiding him back into the position he was in before, Harry gets Louis back to how he was - bent over, arms out and palms flat in front of him. 

Kneeling slowly, Harry pulls Louis’ pants until they’re pooling at his ankles. Kisses all along the back of Louis’ thighs, open mouthed and hearing him whimper in response.

“Is it - okay?” Harry asks. Pauses, then rephrases, “Can I -” he runs a hand down the back of Louis’ thigh, “eat you out?”

“God, Harry,” Louis’ answer is almost immediate, a mixture of breathless and needy, “yes, _fuck_.”

Now with full permission and not able to hold himself back, Harry spreads his ass apart. Trails his tongue along Louis’ hole, teasingly, then pulls back. Purses his lips and blows on the wet skin, which immediately as Louis grinding back onto nothing. 

Harry leans forward again, licking over it with the flat of his tongue. Hears Louis breathe out a “fuck,” from his mouth before Harry’s even gotten himself fully inside. His entire body feels like it’s shaking, humming, one hand gripped around Louis’ thigh, carefully gripping.

Uses the tip of his tongue around the rim of it, working his way in slowly. Starts out gentle at first, before slowly building up pressure - no real rhythm or thought behind it. 

He can hear the slide of Louis’ palms across the hood of his car, letting out something close to a choked out moan. Can imagine how his fringe must be practically plastered to his forehead now, Harry’s jaw aching slightly.

Once he can get his tongue inside Louis, working his way slowly but with enough momentum to keep them going, Louis presses himself backwards - into Harry’s mouth. 

“Harry -” Louis starts. He tastes so _good_ , Harry thinks in a brief moment of clear thoughts amongst his hazy head. “Please, I’m going to - come. Need you inside me, /God/.”

Pulling his face up, kissing up to the small press of the dimples to Louis’ lower back - Harry trails his lips along there, his spit mixed in with the lube he pours across his fingers, working Louis open. Starts with one finger, quickly getting himself up to two - then three, not taking long before Louis is ready.

Harry can see his cock on the hood of Harry’s car, already leaking precome. Kisses between Louis’ shoulder blades, pressing into him slowly.

“/Fuck/, Louis -” Harry says, lips still against his skin. Tells him how tight he is, how Harry can’t believe Louis is his - so lovely, bends himself over so his back is right against Louis’. Keeps a hand on Louis’ waist, another on his chest - feeling Louis’ heart beating in his chest. 

It’s not long until Louis comes all over the dark paint job of the hood of Harry’s Mercedes in a silent, private garage. Harry comes uttering a litany of Louis’ name and curse words, finally pulling out when he’s done.

Louis turns to face him, knocking his forehead against Harry’s chest. Wrapping his arms around him, Harry tugs Louis closer, pressing a kiss to his hair. Neither of them say anything, but the silence is enough. It’s always enough, with them.

By the time they’re back in Louis’ car, Harry’s flushed and exhausted, playing with Louis’ fingers the entire way. 

“I’ll see you,” Louis says, Harry leaning down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“Probably,” Harry jokes, smiling at the face Louis makes.

He makes his way upstairs, the apartment dark - save for a light in the kitchen. Harry can see his dad at his laptop, glasses on and rubbing his temples. He asks, “Who were you with?”

“No one,” Harry tells him, and goes into his room.

-

It’s just after Harry’s lunch break about two weeks later, does his dad come storming into his office. If you can call it an office - mostly it’s a cubicle beside Jessica’s desk, but.

“My office,” his dad says, voice firm. “ _Now_.”

Harry gets up, not quite sure what the fuck is going on when he steps inside. The door closes, and his father drops a magazine onto his desk.

“I, personally, was devastated when I found out about Jen and Ben. Tragic.” Harry says.

His father doesn’t move. Says, “Come look at this.”

He takes a few steps across the room, glancing at whatever celebrity magazine this is. Growing up in the spotlight Harry’s been featured a few times - for hanging out with certain people, whatever. It’s not really been a big thing, at least not to him. Especially if he doesn’t pay much mind to it.

When he looks, however, Harry’s a little shocked at what he sees. Him and Louis, hand in hand leaving a club downtown the other weekend. He swallows, mouth dry.

_Enemies to Frenemies? Or Maybe Something More?_

_Long time apparent rivals Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles, sons and heirs to the large car companies of similar names, were seen leaving one of the hottest clubs in Downtown LA, Tap House, holding hands and laughing loudly while exiting into their cab. “They were all over each other whole night,” a source tells us, “they’ve been seeing each other for a while. Seems serious.”_

_Serious looks pretty hot together, doesn’t it?_

Harry feels sick.

“You going to tell me what this is?” His father’s voice is demanding now; relentless. On the verge of being pissed off. “Because I sure as hell don’t know why you would be going to clubs with Louis Tomlinson at two in the the morning - holding his hand.”

Harry blinks. His entire body feels like it’s shaking when he says, “It’s nothing we were just -”

“Just what, Harry? Is this where you’ve been going? Not seeing Niall, by the looks of things.”

“Dad, come on, I can explain -”

“So explain it. You’re just standing here, confirming what’s on this page.”

“What the fuck do these celebrity magazines know anyway?” Harry snaps.

“Says a source tells them you two have been hanging around each other for months now. It’s hilarious to me that I have to find out about your life through a source at a magazine than I can from my own son. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“Why do you hate him so much?” Harry’s head is pounding, heart racing. “What has he ever done to you?”

“His _father_ owns our leading competitor's company, Harry, doesn’t that tell you enough? He’s clearly got other intentions if he’s kept you around this long.”

Something inside Harry feels like it’s on fire, burning and real in his chest. “His intentions?”

“Getting information for his dad, or something. I don’t know, but it’s got to be something,” 

“Do you think that we would’ve worked so hard to make sure you didn’t know, just so he could fuck our family over? Real nice, dad. You care more about your company and its future than you do about your son’s happiness.” 

“You have no respect for me, or for this company. All you care about is your parties and whatever the latest trend is. I don’t have time for it, Harry. I can’t keep putting all these hours and time into you -”

“Then don’t.”

His father stops. Harry stares at him, “If you don’t think I’m worth the effort, then give up now.”

“What kind of person just walks away from all of this? You know how many people would love to be in your shoes? Would kill to have the life you have? A lot of people, Harry. I think you forget that a lot of the time.” With each word his father’s voice is getting steadily louder, and Harry’s headache is getting steadily worse.

“I think after spending a day with you they’d understand why I can’t stay here for another fucking day.”

His father’s lips are pulled together, arms tightly crossed over his chest. Harry knows his father’s anger well, has seen him wear it many times.

“Get out.” His father’s voice on the verge of yelling. “You’re no son of mine, not anymore. Not after how you’ve treated me.”

Harry laughs, the sound cold. He’s going to remember this moment forever, he thinks. In his dad’s office he’ll probably never see again, the stacks of records on his shelf. The look of pure anger on his father’s face, and the feeling that he won’t let himself become the man in front of him. His mother always used to tell Harry there’s a turning point in your life, one that you can remember every detail for as long as you’re alive. This is Harry’s.

“Gladly. Have a nice life,” Harry spits back, going to the door. When it closes it slams, and Harry hopes it shatters behind him when he leaves.

-

The decision isn’t that hard to make.

“I’m leaving.” Harry calls Niall, packing up a suitcase in his room. His flight leaves in two hours.

“You’re - what? Harry?” Niall asks into the phone.

“Don’t want to stay here anymore. My dad and I got into a huge fight and I’m just - going to stay with my mom for a little while, I think.” Harry’s throat feels tight.

“Are you alright? Is everything okay?” Niall asks in response.

“Yeah it’s all - fine, I’m just. Can’t stay here, feel like I need to get out,” Harry tells him.

“Do you need anything?” Niall asks.

Harry swallows, holding his phone. Closes his eyes for a moment, trying to take in a deep breath. After a moment he says, “No, I don’t - think so. Thanks, Niall.”

“Call me when you get there, okay?” Niall says.

“I will,” Harry promises. “And - Niall?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell him about this.”

“Bye, Harry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow - have a safe flight,” Niall says, before hanging up.

No sign of his dad, nothing. The entire apartment is empty when Harry’s finally ready to go, sending his mom one last text with his flight details - closing the door behind him. For a brief moment, Harry leans his forehead against the door, exhaling. But the moment passes and he once again starts wheeling his suitcase toward the elevator.

It’s about fifteen minutes to the airport, Harry’s suitcase in the back when he gets into the driver’s side. Parks his car and gets his bag, phone and passport in his pocket when he starts up the concrete.

Checks into his flight no problem, putting his bag to be checked through onto the plane, boarding pass at hand and making his way to the security line.

“Harry!”

He knows the voice before he turns around. It feels like there’s a massive lump in his throat when he looks back to see Louis standing there.

He’s wearing one of Harry’s sweaters, too big for him, the sleeves going down past his hands and jeans, breathing heavily.

“How did you -”

“Niall,” Louis answers. Harry should’ve known. 

A silence stretches between them, people walking past and Harry watches the way Louis’ lips start to tremble - pressing them together. 

“So you’re really leaving, then?” Louis asks.

Harry hates how small he looks, standing there. Unsure and waiting, hair across his forehead. Harry loves him; he doesn’t say it.

“Come with me,” he finally says.

Louis pauses, and for a split second Harry wonders if he’ll say yes - no bags, nothing, just get on the plane.

“I have my sisters, Harry, I can’t just up and leave them. Not right now,” Louis says, and even though there’s a large amount of space between them, he can still hear the way Louis’ voice cracks. “You can stay, Harry, come on. We can figure something out, find a place to live -”

“I can’t.” Harry cuts him off.

They don’t say much after that. Harry takes a step toward him, cautious and slow, and it’s moments before Louis closes the distance - hands gripping Harry’s shirt and kissing him. 

It feels like the air’s been punched out of Harry’s chest, pulling Louis close and trying to take him all in at once - remember the curve of his side, how his lips feel pressed against Harry’s. 

There’s a weird sense of confusion, standing there. Like saying goodbye to Louis is this big thing Harry can’t quite get a handle on.

If he stays any longer Harry knows he won’t go, pulling apart and feeling Louis’ forehead against his own. It’s a near silent whisper, Louis’ lips ghosting across Harry’s when he says, “Stay, please.”

Harry kisses him a second time - hands cupped around both sides of Louis’ face. He doesn’t say it, knows he can’t say it right now in the middle of the airport - but somehow Harry knows that Louis knows, doesn’t even have to say it.

Grips Louis’ hands once, twice, before going to the security line. When he finally works up enough courage to look back, Louis is gone.

 

 _louis_.

He wakes up at half past ten, hungover, with Lottie aggressively pinching his arm.

“What the fuck -” Louis mumbles, wincing at the light.

“You promised you’d take me to the mall,” she says, before walking away.

Louis sighs, leaning his head back. He’s going to die. Downstairs, he can hear his mother moving around, his head pounding.

He doesn’t remember promising to take Lottie to the mall. Mostly he remembers going out with Liam, somehow managing to get back into his bed, and just now waking up. 

God. Everything hurts. 

With a lot of effort, he finally sits up - rubbing his eyes and managing to somehow stand on his feet. 

Decides that maybe putting on clothes is a good idea, taking his keys and making his way to the kitchen. Gets some cereal from the cupboard, sitting at the counter and pouring some into a bowl. 

“Louis? That you?” Jay’s voice comes as she walks into the kitchen.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” Louis says, eating a spoonful of cereal.

“You’re still able to take Lottie this afternoon? She says she needs to get some things for the event tomorrow night,” she asks, Doris on her hip.

Louis reaches out, letting her fingers wrap around his hand, nodding. “I’ll leave in a bit,” he says.

She leans down, kissing his head briefly, promising she’ll be back later. Louis listens to her go, taking the twins and Fizzy with her - the door closing behind her.

He can hear Daisy and Lottie in the living room, talking loudly to one another as he leans against the doorway.

“You ready to go?” Louis asks.

The girls look over at him. Lottie asks, “Are you wearing that?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You want a ride or not?”

There’s no more comments after that, all of them getting into the car and driving off to the mall. He’s tired, getting out and following them inside. It’s mostly a couple of hours of them picking out dresses - make up, things Louis has basically no interest in, but goes along anyway.

Eventually he goes to the food court, getting himself a smoothie and wanders. It’s a Friday afternoon so it’s packed, people all walking around, pushing past him.

Liam texted, but Louis hasn’t responded yet. His phone feels like a weight in his pocket, untouched and left there.

He goes into a store, looking through their clothes, not really staying in one place for too long. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think himself how every fucking thing reminds him of Harry, and he can’t escape that.

Feels like his chest is always so fucking tight, even when he’s not hardly doing anything. Maybe Liam’s right, maybe Louis will just - get over it, but it takes time.

Maybe he won’t ever fucking get over it. 

“Louis?”

He turns, hearing his name. “Gemma. Hi.”

“Thought that was you,” she says, walking beside him out of the store. “How have you been?”

“Um. Good,” Louis answers, running a hand through his hair. That’s a lie, and she can probably tell - with his track pants and rumpled t-shirt on. “How are you?”

“Everything’s good,” she answers, holding one bag on her left side. 

“Lots of good going around,” Louis comments flatly.

Gemma laughs, and Louis has to bite down on the inside of his cheek at the familiar press of her dimple in her cheek. Fuck.

“Well, it was nice to see you,” she says. 

Louis nods, “You too. Enjoy your - shopping.”

She pauses, as if waiting for him to say something. Or ask - break the tension and just say his name. But Louis doesn’t, refuses to, and forces a small smile.

“I will. Bye, Louis.”

He doesn’t watch her go, throwing his now empty cup into the garbage. Walks over to one of the benches, sitting down and taking out his phone. Doesn’t think about it when he dials a number - pressing it to his ear.

Listens to it ring once, twice, closing his eyes. 

_Hi, you’ve reached Harry. Can’t take your call right now but call back later, I suck at returning messages. Bye!_

He just about throws his phone, from the first word. Wants to tell him off for being such a fucking asshole, for just up and leaving Louis here. 

Louis is so fucking mad at him. But he misses Harry more than that.

Lottie texts him eventually that they’re ready to go, Louis meeting them back by the car and driving them home. Harry doesn’t call him back. 

And Louis tells himself it’s better that way.

-

The event is long and terrible. Louis is sitting in his chair, Liam beside him, listening to some man drone on and on about something he stopped listening to about twenty minutes ago.

Sophia, bless her, excused herself a few minutes ago to get them some more drinks. She’s back just before the speech ends, her hand back in Liam’s as she hands Louis’ cup over to him.

“Have I told you that I like her? Because I do,” Louis says. Liam smirks, Sophia smiling against his shoulder in response.

When the speeches finally end Louis goes over to the table, putting a few things onto his plate. He spots someone across the room, averting his gaze.

Of course Niall’s here, Louis reminds himself, his father’s company is one of the big names here.

It would be rude not to say hello, right? he reasons with himself, before he goes over to him and says, “Niall, my old friend. How are you?”

Niall excuses himself from whoever he’s talking to, focusing in on Louis now. “Nearly fell asleep during that two hour long speech. What the fuck was that?”

“Felt like I was dying,” Louis says, shaking his head.

“Awful,” Niall adds. Louis makes a sound of agreement.

“So how are you?” Louis asks.

“Good, you know. Nothing really out of the ordinary,” Niall tells him. “You?”

“The same, mostly,” Louis answers.

He takes in a deep breath, wondering if he should do it. Then, in a short burst of courage, asks, “How is he?”

Niall pauses, as if seeing this coming. Smiles a little, sad, making eye contact with Louis again. They’re far enough from the bar that people can’t listen to them, all huddled around trying to get drinks.

“He’s good,” Niall says. 

When Louis doesn’t say anything, Niall adds, “I didn’t think he’d really go. Or if he did - that he’d be back by now, at least.”

Louis looks down at his glass, barely touched, chewing the inside of his cheek. “It’s fine.”

He can tell Niall isn’t convinced, but he doesn’t push it. Excuses himself when he’s called over where a handful of people are standing, giving Louis a silent, gentle grip around his arm before going.

-

Louis goes for a drive.

It’s close to two in the morning and he can’t sleep. Like he’s stuck inside his own fucking head, can’t get out. Everyone else was asleep in the house, quiet and settled, closing the door behind him.

 _and in the end, i’d do it all again_.

Louis presses down on the gas, pulling into an empty parking lot of some store. He can hear the hum on the engine, loud and echoing in his ears, hands gripped firmly around the steering wheel. Harry hated when he would do this - spin the car around, just on the verge of no longer being in control.

He hears the turbo engine roaring in his ears, gripping the steering wheel, his feet feeling out the clutch, brakes, and gas. He’s shifting gears fast and effortlessly, like it’s second nature, when he feels the wheels lose traction, the car starting to spin.

 _i think you’re my best friend_.

The music is loud, nearly drowning out the thoughts in Louis’ head, going round and round all fucking day - reminding him that he’s gone, he’s not coming back. He’s got himself and everything he’s ever wanted, apparently, filling the void Louis could never fill in his life.

He hates this feeling. Like if he did something different - if he changed how he reacted to something Harry said, or did something differently. But he didn’t think he needed to do anything to get Harry to stay.

Going back out of the parking lot, Louis exhales, feeling the car beneath the palms of his hands. It’s better this way, he tells himself. Or that’s what Liam keeps telling him - though Louis knows it’s just to make him feel better. 

And while Louis appreciates Liam trying to make him feel better, Louis would much rather nurse his own wounds. Though all he does for that is sit in them and let them be there, open, for everyone to fucking see.

Before he goes back onto the road, Louis stops the car, looking into the rearview mirror. Can see the marks his tires have left in the parking lot, stark against the pavement. And fuck it, if he couldn’t leave his mark on Harry, he had to leave it _somewhere_. 

He feels sickly unsatisfied, because he can’t have Harry - and even this doesn’t fill up that part of him like it used to.

 _it’s our time now if you want it to be_.

He thought he’d gotten under Harry’s skin. That Harry felt the same things Louis did, when they were together - on long drives, or just sitting in Louis’ garage. When Harry would put his hand on Louis’ hip, warm and his hands so fucking big - just one touch getting Louis’ head spinning. 

Press down on the gas. Exhale. Feel the warm sting in his eyes.

Maybe Harry never felt that way. Maybe he’s a fucking good liar; but Louis knows, deep inside his chest, that he didn’t. Could tell by the way Harry fucking looked at him, though it wasn’t that hard to see. Clear as fucking day, especially when he looked at Louis.

He’s angry and he’s hurt. He’s upset and he’s moping. Louis tells himself he’s allowed to be this way, that he’s justified.

 

But maybe it’s worse, that he’s reacting this way. Means it was something real.

The roads are dark, hardly anyone driving on them. Only the occasional car passing by him, lights on and illuminating the dark road.

Louis stops, getting out, kicking off his shoes and walking out onto the sand. It’s cold, the air rushing past him - Louis needing to wrap his arms around himself to keep from shivering. Harry’s sweater is in the backseat still; the one Louis loves, worn out at the end of the sleeves, smells like him.

He doesn’t go and get it.

Instead, Louis bends down, picking up a rock and hurls it into the water. Waits for the sound of it, then throws another. It’s nearly cathartic, relieving at least a bit of the tension built up inside him, like he was on the brink of boiling over for fucking days.

By the time his arm is tired, the sun’s starting to rise - and Louis decides he should maybe try to sleep. Drives along the highway, keeping his eyes ahead and ignoring the ache in his chest. 

No one’s yet awake when he walks in the front door, making his way upstairs and falling into bed.

 _i’m yours_.

-

“Liam. Why did you leave me.”

“This is the third time you’ve called me in half an hour. Are you alright?” Liam answers on the other line. “I was in the shower. People do that sometimes, Louis.”

“Fuck off,” Louis says, pressing half his face into his pillow, “I need ice cream. Mint chocolate chip, please.”

“Have you left your bed all day?” Liam asks knowingly.

“I refuse to answer that.” Louis says.

Liam pauses. Then, “If you come here I’ll give you ice cream. Deal?”

“I hate when you take care of me, Payno,” Louis mumbles.

“It’s a ten minute drive. See you soon,” Liam says before hanging up.

Apparently Liam’s ‘tough love’ attitude works, because it at least gets Louis out of bed. He forgoes showering, because ice cream is more important, throwing on a pair of shorts and a shirt before he’s out the door.

He’s got to pick Lottie up from a friend’s, but that’s not until eight, a little after two in the afternoon now. 

Karen Payne is one the most loving people Louis has ever met, appearing in the doorway moments after he rings the doorbell. “Louis, come on in,” she says, opening the door further so he can step inside.

Louis thanks her, making his way up to Liam’s room. 

“You made it,” Liam says, sounding surprised.

“You promised me ice cream,” Louis says, shrugging.

Karen’s just out the door by the time they get the kitchen, just the two of them left when Louis pulls up a stool to the kitchen counter. 

He’s got his forehead pressed against the top of it, the granite cool against his skin before Liam slides a bowl toward him, “Eat up.”

Louis grunts. Eventually, they make their way into the living room, glancing over at Liam.

“Don’t give me that look,” Louis says firmly.

Liam moves his spoon around his bowl wordlessly and asks, “What look?”

“You know the look. The 'I feel sorry for Louis' one,” he says.

“You’re the one sitting on my couch with a bowl of ice cream, wearing your old shorts and shirt,” Liam points out.

“I’m coping,” Louis says simply, tucking his legs under himself.

Liam doesn’t say anything else, turning on the TV. Settles in on the couch, bowl nearly finished by the time they settle on something to watch. 

Gently puts his toes under Liam’s thigh, for a bit of comfort and familiarity. Settles something in Louis, being here. Makes him feel like he can go from one minute to the next without his mind constantly racing.

Leans his head back, and lets his eyes close. 

When he wakes up Liam’s still beside him, on his phone, as Louis shifts. “Morning, sunshine,” Liam teases.

Louis rolls his eyes, kicking his thigh gently. “You could’ve woken me.”

“You looked so peaceful. Didn’t want to ruin it,” Liam says, grinning.

It takes a moment until the sinking feeling registers. Liam must notice, because he wraps a gentle hand around Louis’ ankle and says, “I’ll go make us some tea.”

The distraction was nice while it lasted.

-

Nearly an entire month after he’s been gone, Harry finally calls.

Louis’s underneath his car, phone vibrating on the workbench. And he hates himself a little bit for hoping it’s him, seeing his name light up the screen.

Doesn’t answer it right away, though. Wonders if he should even hit the answer button, or just let it go to voicemail.

Letting the first part get the better of him, Louis presses his to his ear and waits.

“Hello?” Harry’s voice comes after about half a minute.

God. Louis closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the wooden shelf above the bench. “Fancy hearing from you,” Louis says.

He can hear Harry sigh. Louis swallows, unmoving. “I just - I wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” Louis says flatly.

“You’re allowed to be pissed at me,” Harry starts.

Louis laughs, “So glad you can tell me what I can and can’t feel.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry says, defensive.

He can hear his sister's coming home with their mom, stomping loudly through the front room. “Why are you calling me, out of the blue? What do you want.”

“I’ve done something quite stupid.” Louis braces himself. Harry continues, “I bought you a plane ticket. To come out here.”

“I don’t even know where ‘out here’ is,” Louis snaps in response.

“San Francisco. I got you a ticket to come - next week, if you want.” 

The suggestion hangs in the air, untouched. Louis lets out a breath, trying to find some way to calm the beating in his chest. A plane ticket. A fucking - plane ticket.

“I don’t know if I can.” Louis says. His thoughts are a mixture of _I want to go_ and _I’m so fucking mad at you_.

“Just - it’s there. If you change your mind,” Harry says. 

“Alright, well. Thanks for thinking of me, I guess.” Louis bites his lower lip, an arm wrapping around his body. As if that’ll somehow keep him together, the one simple action.

“I’m just, I’m going to go.”

“Yeah, I have to finish something up anyway,” Louis says.

It’s been raining all day, the garage door open, the sound of it hitting the pavement echoing in the small space.

“Bye, Lou.”

Louis can barely manage to get out a, “bye, Harry,” before hanging up.

-

The last time Louis flew anywhere, it was to Florida with his family - on a family vacation, back when he was younger. Spent a week at Disney, in one of their over-the-top resorts, if he remembers correctly.

Liam drops him off, not saying much while Louis gets his bag out of the trunk of his car. 

“I’ll see you in a bit,” he says.

Pulls Louis into a hug, and Louis knows - can read it clear on his face, he thinks this is a bad idea. But Liam doesn’t say it, squeezing his arm before he goes through the doors.

Louis has no idea what he’s doing. Knows that if he stops and thinks about it, he’ll change his mind, and he can’t do that now. Just puts his bag on his shoulder, and tells himself he made the right choice.

-

As promised, Harry’s waiting for Louis at the airport.

He doesn’t see Louis right away, talking on the phone. Sends a pang of recognition through Louis, seeing him standing there, like no time has passed. With his usual ridiculous shirt, hair long and passed his shoulders, sunglasses on top of his head. Just how Louis thinks of him, when he lets himself.

Louis grips the handle of his bag tightly, like a lifeline, starting to move through the crowd. Wonders who Harry’s talking to, looks to be someone with his full attention. A surge of jealousy goes through Louis, hot under his skin.

He still looks the same. Just how he had been at the airport, all those weeks ago; like no time has passed. Like Louis was the only one moping around the entire fucking city of LA, while Harry’s been here, doing just fine without him. The only thing that’s changed for Harry is distance.

“I should go. Yeah, I’ll call you soon - I don’t know, I’ve got the next couple of days off. Just text me if you need me. Bye, Emma.”

Louis tried to rehearse for this moment, sitting on the plane. Going over and over in his head, what he would do, what he would say. But his mind’s suddenly gone blank, when Harry turns, seeing him there. 

Makes Louis worried Harry will somehow know, just from looking at him. That he can see all the nights Louis couldn’t sleep, angry and missing him.

“Hi.” Harry says.

Louis can feel his resolve crumbling with just one look. He doesn’t say anything when Harry steps forward, pulling him into a hug. His face is even, into what looks like a rehearsed calmness.

It only lasts a moment until Louis pulls away, wrapping his free arm around his middle. “You got everything?”

“Yeah,” Louis answers. He wants to say something else, just to break the silence between them.

They’re about two steps into the parking lot when Harry asks, “How was your flight?”

As if this is some sort of casual hangout. That Louis flew out here to see how the fucking weather is in San Francisco. 

“It was fine. They gave me those little - peanut bags,” Louis says.

He feels out of place, standing next to Harry. Acting like there’s not a flurry of emotions going on inside him, that there isn’t reason for him to be angry anymore. He balls his free hand into a fist, nails digging into his skin.

Harry gets his bag into his trunk. It's colder here than back home, but it looks about the same. There's fog rolling in. 

“You want to drop your stuff off at my house? Then get something to eat?” Harry suggests, getting out of the airport parking lot.

Louis nods, swallowing thickly. His entire body feels heavy; he’s exhausted and not sure what the fuck he’s even doing here. If he should’ve gotten on that plane at all. 

-

Harry’s parents live on the bay, a large house with big windows overlooking the deck that wraps around the entire house. Dark blue with white trim and very impressive, Louis thinks, walking up the driveway.

They hardly talked the whole drive, and Louis prefers it that way. Has no idea what they would talk about the way over and didn’t feel like wasting the energy trying to think of anything.

“Mom?” Harry calls, the front door already open as he pushes through the screen door. Louis follows in after him, a breeze blowing in.

“Out on the deck,” comes the response.

Louis had only seen Harry’s apartment with his dad once, when his father was asleep and Harry needed to get something - but everything in here is so different in comparison. Warm and inviting, blankets across the couch and pictures hung all along the walls.

Harry tells him he can leave his suitcase in the front room, next to a bench, hands in the front of his sweater as he makes his way toward the back door.

The first thing Louis hears is the water, loud and chaotic. Second is Anne, face bright as she stands from her chair - making her way over to them.

Pulls Harry into a hug, kissing his cheek. He rolls his eyes, smiling despite his faked annoyance, as she looks over at Louis. 

“You must be Louis. Call me Anne, please.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, stretching out a hand.

Anne doesn’t take it, instead hugging him. Louis goes easily, surprised at the level of comfort and familiarity he feels in the brief contact. 

“How was your trip?” Anne asks, rubbing his arms. “You look like you’re freezing, love.”

“I’m fine,” Louis assures her, smiling a little. “And it was good - nothing to report.”

“I like him,” Anne tells Harry, sounding already decided. “Your room is upstairs, first on the left. Just put down some sheets for you, should be clean. If Harry followed my instructions properly.”

Harry groans, pressing his face into her shoulder. “Is it alright if I go now?” Louis asks.

“Of course. Robin and I are going out once he’s home, but Harry said you’re going for dinner anyway, so take your time.”

She’s so _warm_ , like how Harry gets. Can see the softness in her gaze Harry would have sometimes, when it was late and Louis drove for what felt like hours. His chest aches.

“I will, thank you,” Louis says politely. 

He steps back inside, taking his bag and making his way upstairs. More pictures along the walls, painted in a neutral grey. Makes the pounding in his head lessen, opening the door to his room.

The first Louis thing does is make his way to sit on the edge of the bed, suitcase unopened at his feet, and takes out his phone. Liam’s texted, but Louis doesn’t respond, telling himself he will later. Should probably call his mom later as well, let her know he got in alright. 

Deciding he should probably do _something_ , Louis begrudgingly opens his suitcase, taking out his piled clothes inside it. It’s fucking cold; which isn’t saying much, considering he’s from fucking Los Angeles. Makes him worried he didn’t pack enough clothes, and should have paid more attention to what he was putting in here.

Groaning, Louis holds up a shirt, staring at it. He’s going to be cold the entire time he’s here. It’s weird, the unfamiliarity that comes with this place. Makes Louis feel almost like his hands are tied, unsure of what he’s even doing.

Sitting back onto the bed in defeat, Louis abandons all hope of getting his clothes put away, leaning back against his pillows, staring up at his ceiling. The fan is on, spinning around and making Louis shiver. God.

Better get used to it, then, Louis thinks to himself - this could be his life now.

Which, is a new thought for him, apparently. Has no idea where it would even come from.

He’s still mad. Pissed off and still doesn’t have any fucking clue why Harry just picked up and left, but it’s whatever, it’s _fine_. He’s hurt and he doesn’t know how he can forgive him for it, Louis knows - can feel it, deep down; it’s still there.

He still wants it. 

There’s a quiet knock at the door, followed by Harry’s voice, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, looking over. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

-

There’s a diner just ten minutes away, full of people when they step inside. Louis pulls his sweater sleeves over his hands, following their waitress to a booth near the back.

Last time they’d gone somewhere like this was weeks ago now, when Harry had first met Eleanor. Feels like a lifetime’s happened between them since then, seeing Harry across from him, running a hand through his hair. The action is so familiar to Louis is sends a now familiar ache through his chest.

He doesn’t make a lot of conversation. Would much rather just sit here and pick at his food once it arrives, not feeling particularly hungry. Harry keeps fidgeting - with the salt shaker, ripping up his napkin. Can’t fucking sit still, while Louis feels like he’s trapped in some sort of small eternity.

Harry pays the bill and Louis doesn’t even have the energy to fight him on it, hearing his voice across the table saying, “I know you’re mad at me.”

There’s too many people around to have this conversation right now. Finally looking him in the eye Louis tells him, “You don’t fucking know that I’m pissed at you. You just - left. So now you don’t get to have me come back here and pretend like we’re all good. You _left_.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Louis.” 

He leaves before Harry can get another word out on the subject, taking his jacket and pushing out the doors. It’s raining, because of course it is, Louis standing in the middle of the parking lot getting fucking soaked.

“Are you really going to do that?” Harry asks once he’s outside, pulling his coat around his body. “Storm out of there like you’ve got something to prove?”

“It’s better than flying to another fucking city, isn’t it?” Louis bites back. “You go around kissing boys and get them all attached and leave? Nice, Styles. Real classy.”

He’s nearly soaked by now, in just a few short minutes, watching the way Harry’s staring at him - focused and silent. 

They stand there, not moving to get into Harry’s car, which is probably the better option. “I’m not your car, Louis. You can’t fucking fix me.”

His words cut through the rain, loud in Louis’ ears. It’s so stupid, the effect Harry can still have on him - even after these long weeks without him. Anger is the first thing Louis feels, hot under his skin despite shivering in the downpour. Feels his heart beating in his chest, relentless, and making everything feel like it’s just out of focus.

“What the fuck does that even _mean_?” Louis looks at him, voice shaking. Harry doesn’t move. “I don’t want fix you, you fucking - I want to be _with_ you. That’s how you see it? Me wanting to fix you? There’s nothing to fix.”

Still nothing. No response, not a single word. Louis feels he’s talking to a brick wall, helpless and like a weight standing on the now wet pavement. He’s soaked right through to his bone, clothes heavy and practically hanging off him.

Harry doesn’t flinch when Louis bunches his hand around the wet fabric of Harry’s shirt, getting a fistful of it. “I’m so mad at you,” he breathes out. “I’m so fucking - mad at you.”

Leans his forehead against Harry’s chest, feeling like he’s giving up, not carrying this huge fucking weight anymore. 

Harry’s got his arms around Louis, and when they finally decide to drive home it hasn’t fixed all of it. But it’s a start, Louis thinks to himself, and that’s a lot for now.

-

 

The next day Louis sleeps in, waking up at half ten, feeling disoriented. Takes a few minutes for him to remember where he is, hearing Anne’s voice downstairs - most likely talking to Harry. He swallows, hard, remembering last night in the parking lot.

Maybe Harry’s forgotten about it; though that’s unlikely. He gets out of bed, moving slowly across his room to find something to wear. It’s still cool out, feels like it’s going to be cool out all the fucking time Louis is here - but he lays out a shirt and some shorts, trying to get used to it. 

Feels strange, not having the girls around. Usually by now they would’ve woken Louis up for some reason or another, most likely Lottie or Daisy needing a ride somewhere. But there’s no one at the door, just Louis, getting ready. He takes a shower in the bathroom just off his bedroom as he steps under the hot water, letting it run over him.

Washes off the anger from yesterday, rubbing his arms until they’re red. Cleans his hair, not bothering to shave when he gets out. 

Anne’s in the kitchen when Louis makes his way downstairs, heading into the kitchen. She’s got her back to him, no sign of Harry and says, “There’s some food on the counter for you, love.”

And sure enough, there’s a plate - some eggs, bacon and toast piled on. He takes it, pulling up a stool to the island behind where Anne is standing.

“Coffee? Or tea,” she adds, now looking over her shoulder.

“Tea would be great,” Louis says.

She turns on the kettle, drying up a last dish. “How did you sleep?”

Louis shifts, eating a piece of egg. “Good. Slept better than I have in weeks, feels like.”

Anne smiles, nodding. “Harry’s just gone out - should be back soon. Had to run to work for something.”

Work. Louis doesn’t know where Harry works, he realizes. Doesn’t know what Harry has been up to here at all.

“That’s fine,” Louis says, leaning back.

Anne gives him tea, some milk and sugar pushed toward him, just about finished his plate. Tells him he should go sit on the deck out back, enjoy the view. Louis does, pushing open the door and stepping out onto the wood - forgoing shoes for pulling his legs to his chest, tea still in his hand. 

The water’s calmer today, sky still a bit dark from the rain yesterday. With the window’s open he can hear Anne singing in the kitchen, water running for her dishes. Makes Louis feel like he’s been here many weeks before this one, sitting out here for hours at a time.

Has a strange sense of familiarity he can’t seem to figure out.

Calls his mom, tells her he got in alright. Texts Liam back, informs him that San Fran is far too cold for Louis’ liking, and he’ll be home soon. 

Once his mug is finished Louis steps back inside, leaving it on the countertop when Anne asks, “Do you like peaches, Louis?”

He nods, glancing over to see her peeling a large pile of them in front of her. “Can’t say I’ve eaten a lot of them in my life.”

Anne laughs, motioning him over. There’s flour dusted all over her hands, a pile of what looks to be dough beside her. She hands him a peach, and a knife, starting from the top - pulling a strip of peel off of it. Louis tries to recreate this, but fails miserably, shaking his head.

“You’re not supposed to get it on the first try,” she tells him, cutting her now peeled peach into sections.

Louis can’t remember the last time he’d had any kind of pie. Can’t even recall the last time anyone had baked anything in their house, except Lottie tried to make cookies - which hadn’t gone very well at all.

“Do you have a lot of experience baking?” Anne asks, breaking Louis from his thoughts.

He pauses, his poor attempt at a peeled peach being cut into the bowl. “I guess? My mom used to do it a lot more when I was younger, with me and my sisters. But after my dad left she kind of, stopped.”

Anne hums, cutting up small cubes of butter, placing them on top of the peach slices. “Not so much anymore?” Louis shakes his head. “All families have their things.”

“Guess so,” Louis says. “I am happy though, very lucky.”

“Of course you are. Our downs make our ups that bit better, don’t they?” Anne asks.

Sprinkling cinnamon on top when Louis says, “That got - rather deep rather fast.”

Laughing quietly, she turns back to look at him. “Sorry, sorry - that would be my fault. Having my boy around makes me more emotional than normal.”

Louis swallows, rinsing his hands under the tap. “You did a great job. With him, I mean.”

Anne’s quiet as she puts another piece of dough on top of the nearly finished pie. She picks up a small brush, spreading melted butter all along the top. “Can’t take all the credit, I’m afraid. His mood started to pick up a few months ago, didn’t it?” She smiles knowingly at Louis, “Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Wouldn’t say that,” Louis says, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

He didn’t even hear the door, Harry’s voice now coming into the kitchen, “Hope you’re not embarrassing me too much, mom.”

Anne looks over at Harry, reaching over to pinch his cheeks. “Louis was just helping me make some pie, that’s all.”

Harry looks at Louis for a moment, eyes lingering on his face before nodding back at her, “Did you still want me to run to the store?”

“If you don’t mind, and Louis doesn’t mind. I’m sure he can stay here, if you don’t want to go,” Anne tells him.

Louis blinks, shrugging. “I don’t really have any plans, so.”

Anne laughs, shaking her head. “Should get going, then. Robin will be home a bit later, so you’ve got time to go to the market and get that chicken for me, yeah?”

“The organic one?” Harry asks, “yeah, we can do that. Give Louis the whole tour.”

“I’m sure he’d love to see it,” Anne says. 

After getting changed Louis makes sure his hair isn’t a complete mess, making his way downstairs. Anne says goodbye, promising to have the pie done by the time they’re home.

Walking down the driveway to his car the clouds are still in the sky. Harry opens up the driver’s side. Louis follows, pulling out and heading into the city. The radio’s on, Harry’s phone plugged in - and Louis doesn’t have the energy to complain about whatever music is playing. 

They pull up on a side street, Louis getting out. He’s making his way around the car when he sees Harry trip, getting up onto the sidewalk.

Leaning against the car, Louis snorts. Harry brushes himself off, smiling despite himself. “God,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

“Some things never do change,” Louis comments, and Harry shoves his shoulder lightly in response. 

Harry leads him down the street and into a crowded farmer's market along, pressing against Louis, and he makes no effort to step away from him. There’s a number of people walking past them, bags in their hands, talking loudly with one another.

It’s nice today, so Louis feels less like he’s dying, following Harry along. They get vegetables, the chicken, and a few other things Anne texts that she needs. Louis eventually takes a bag, knowing Harry can’t possibly hold three of them and function like a normal person, especially when his phone starts ringing.

“Hello? Hi, Emma,” Harry takes the call. “Kind of a bad time, I’m looking at - raw chicken.”

Louis grins, not even trying to hide it, ignoring the look Harry gives him. Cradling his phone to his shoulder, he says, “I know it sounds - strange, but a man’s gotta eat, after all.” 

A pause. They pass by a flower booth, Louis looking a few bouquets while Harry says, “ _Again_? No, yeah, I can stop by again but I can’t be long this time. Okay, see you soon. Bye.”

“Got that spot at the chicken convention you wanted?” Louis asks.

Harry rolls his eyes, “They need me to come pick up something from work. Won’t be long. Is that alright?”

Louis nods, “Should be fine.”

Harry asks him which bunch of flowers he likes, Louis picking one that Harry eventually buys - saying that Anne always likes having flowers on her kitchen table. 

“This looks awful.”

Harry looks over at Louis. “It’s not awful. Just something you’ve never had before.”

“It’s got the word germ in the title of it.”

“ _Wheat_ germ,” Harry clarifies, sunglasses on top of his head even though there’s no sunlight. “One sip. Then we can get ice cream.”

“I’m not a child,” Louis quips. Regardless, takes a sip.

Moments later, he nearly spits it back out onto the pavement. Harry winces, taking the cup from him. “Taking that as a no, then.”

“What the fuck,” Louis says, making a face. “You paid six dollars for _this_?”

“Only five,” Harry says, sucking on the straw.

Carrot, tomato, and spinach. With the added wheat germ. Absolutely horrid. Louis would not recommend it to anyone, living or otherwise.

“Ice cream, now, please,” Louis says.

Harry leads him over to another booth, getting the promised ice cream, before going back to his car. Well, technically it’s Anne’s car, loading the chicken into the cooler kept in the trunk. 

It’s a few minutes until they’re back downtown, the streets still busy as Louis leans back. “Where do you work?”

Harry flips on his turn signal, arm resting on top of the wheel, waiting to turn left. “A publishing company. Got an internship with them.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? That sounds great, Harry.”

“Mostly I just read manuscripts, tell them if they suck or not, then forward the ones I like through to my boss.”

“So you get paid to read?” Louis asks teasingly.

There’s a dimple pressed into Harry’s cheek when he says, “If you want a very loose way of putting it, yes.”

They get to a large building, Harry being waved through at the front desk. “Thought you were on vacation,” the girl says, giving Harry a curious look.

“As did I, Jesy. As did I,” Harry says, forlorn, but still laughing when he pushes the button for an elevator.

Jesy just gives Louis a knowing look before he gets into the elevator, going up to the eighth floor. The door dings when they step out, a number of people walking past them, Louis putting his hands into his pocket.

Goes to an office along the far wall, everything looking new and modern - much like Louis’ dad’s office. Knocks once on the door, until there’s a voice calling to come in.

“You actually almost came on time,” a woman says, getting up from her desk. “And you brought a friend.”

“This is Louis. You know, the one who came to visit while I’m on vacation,” Harry says pointedly. “Emma, this is Louis. Louis, this is Emma.”

Emma smiles at him, shaking his hand. “I just wanted you to get this manuscript before the weekend, tell me what you think.”

Harry nods, taking the large stack of papers from her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Sorry he had to drag you all the way down here,” Emma adds, now looking at Louis. “How long are you here for, Louis?”

“Till Monday,” Louis answers. It’s Saturday today, he reminds himself.

“I hope you enjoy your stay,” Emma tells him, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting and some Tylenol to take for my headache. But lovely to meet you, Louis. And Harry - I’ll see you next week.”

She’s gone then, closing her office door behind her. Harry gives Louis a look. “So do you have your own office here? Name tag and all?”

“Office is a bit of a stretch, I think,” Harry says.

Leads him past a few desks, until reaching one a couple of rows down from Emma’s office. Got a computer and papers piled up, along with his name - _Harry Styles_ \- full on display. Louis swallows, looking at it.

There’s a picture of Harry, Gemma, and Anne. Another of Anne and Robin on their wedding day. A note from Niall saying _Miss you!_ along with an attached printed picture of him and Harry, down at a club. A mug with pens, from the radio station - obviously from Nick. Another picture of art, Cara’s name signed under it. 

Built himself a life here, Louis thinks. He pauses, though, seeing something else.

It’s a picture of Louis, from the one night they’d gone to the beach, after Harry and his dad had had a fight. The sky is a mixture of purple and orange behind him, and he’s not looking at the camera. Had no idea Harry was taking this picture, by the looks of things. 

Louis is smiling, head down and wearing one of Harry’s sweaters, too big for him. When he looks up Harry’s already looking at him, and it’s like there’s so much they could say - but no words come out. 

“You ready to go?” Harry asks, fingertips brushing the inside of Louis’ wrist.

“Yeah,” Louis tells him, and they go.

\- 

Anne’s got dinner on the table before seven, Robin home just a little before then. And it’s nice, all of them sitting around the table. Talking and laughing, Louis still not quite used to that feeling like he’s at home, Harry’s knee pressed against his own.

“Should consider a career as a baker,” Anne tells Louis as they eat the peach pie, pointing her fork at him.

Louis looks at her, shaking his head. “Don’t think that would be a good idea for me.”

By the time they’re finished Louis feels himself starting to get colder, water running into the sink.

“The flowers aren’t on the table,” Louis tells Harry, bringing their dishes into the kitchen.

Though Anne insists they won’t be doing any dishes, Harry pauses, looking at him. Smiles a little and says, “Must’ve forgot to put them out.”

They’re sent out onto the deck, Louis wrapping one of the blankets from the couch in the living room around himself. It’s nearly dark, the light on outside the door, as Harry puts a mug in front of Louis.

The light’s on in the kitchen, and Louis wants to reach out and curl his hand around Harry’s, but stops himself. 

“It’s kind of nice, being out here,” Louis says. Like a quiet peace offering, after everything.

Harry’s got his hands around his mug, looking over at him. The only thing Louis can think he looks like is relieved - face not pulled into this tight, unsure expression he’s had on for most of the day. A breeze blows past them, Louis taking a drink of his tea, still steaming in his mug.

“It’s not bad,” Harry says in agreement.

“Do you think you’ll stay here?” Louis finally asks, because he can’t handle not knowing the answer anymore. It’s the only thought he’s had since he got off that fucking plane.

He could spend a lifetime, watching him. The way his mouth turns into a small smile, the kind that makes Louis’ heart pound when Harry says, “Just - like being where you are.”

It’s more than just the words themselves, hanging between the two of them, stretching the silence. Anne’s humming in the kitchen, a regular occurrence Louis can tell by now.

“Just because he says you have to do something doesn’t mean you have to,” Louis says finally.

Harry’s brows pull together, drink untouched. “It was just - all he wanted for me. There’s so much fucking pressure, to be everything he wants and requires.”

Louis nods. “I get that.”

“I don’t want his company, or any of it. He can leave it to someone else for all I fucking care,” Harry continues, now sounding angry. 

“Hey,” Louis starts, keeping his voice soft to match the nighttime air. “You don’t have to do any of those things, you know.”

“You sound like my mom,” Harry comments, leaning back.

“Well, I mean. We are both very smart people,” Louis points out. “I didn’t always like cars.”

Harry looks at him in disbelief. “You spend every waking second with your car.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t always. Used to spend all my time home from the summer between semesters in offices, reading over papers I didn’t give a fuck about. It wasn’t until I started, like - fucking around with the actual cars I started giving a shit,” Louis explains, pulling the blanket closer around his shoulders. 

“Guess that’s fair,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair.

“You can find a job at a publishing company anywhere,” Louis adds. “I mean, I don’t know that for sure, but. There are other jobs out there for you to do - not just sit around and be miserable with your dad all day doing something you hate.”

Harry looks on the verge of something, licking his lips and looking out across the water, unreadable. 

“You scare the shit out of me, Louis," he says finally.

Louis stops, shifting slowly, so he’s now facing him. Can see the way Harry doesn’t look at him, as if terrified he doesn’t know what Louis will do - what he’ll say.

“It’s like. You make parts of me want to actually do something, and not be stuck in a place I hate all fucking day. That you just - I don’t fucking know, Louis. I don’t know how to say it.”

“Try.” Louis urges him gently.

He feels weirdly nervous, like this could be the moment that ends it all - or starts again. Curls a hand around his thigh, trying to keep himself steady.

“I left,” Harry begins, and Louis nods. 

“Thank you Captain Obvious,” Louis says flatly.

Harry ignores him, “And that was - a shitty thing to do, and I know that. But I just - think we can give this another go, if we wanted to. Make it work.”

Louis feels the warmth of Harry’s fingers brush over the back of his hand; a silent reassurance. Anne and Robin already went up to bed, the only light illuminating from the porch light.

“You can’t just up and leave whenever you want,” Louis says. 

“I know.” 

There isn’t anything else to say. Louis isn’t going to sit here and lecture him all day, when it’s very apparent Harry knows leaving fucked them over in so many ways. Can’t start any sort of relationship on guilt and anger, Louis decides.

Which is why he leans forward, toward Harry, pressing a gentle hand against his cheek. Feels the warmth of his skin despite the cold air. 

They both know what’s going to happen, even before Louis kisses him. Can feel the anticipation humming through him, an unspoken conversation when Harry brushes his lips against Louis’.

There isn’t any kind of waiting when Harry kisses him back, urgency mixed in with the kind of tenderness Louis has missed from him for weeks now - nearly whimpers when Harry presses his teeth into his lower lip.

“Fuck,” Louis breathes out, one of Harry’s hands coming to rest behind his neck.

It’s so much, having him here - the warm press of his lips, soft and just how Louis remembers them. He tastes like peach pie, sweet and something Louis could never deny himself. 

God. Louis missed him. Missed the way Harry can make him feel like his head’s spinning and there’s nothing else to hold onto but Harry.

“We can go - somewhere more private,” Harry manages to get out when Louis is sucking on the side of his neck.

“Lead the way,” Louis tells him.

And Harry does. Louis doesn’t make any effort to stop kissing him, and Harry doesn’t make any efforts of asking him to stop - maneuvering them so Louis is sitting on the wooden table, Harry’s arms bracing around him. Getting the hint, Louis wraps his legs around his waist, feeling dizzy and firmly in place against him when Harry lifts him up.

“If you drop me I’m on the first flight back to LA tonight,” Louis warns, breathless.

Harry laughs, kissing Louis again, stepping back inside the house. The water’s loud but all Louis can hear is his heartbeat pounding his ears, telling him this is real, this is happening and he’s not dreaming.

Though everything about Harry feels like a dream, almost.

Feels his back press against the wall beside the stairs, Louis’ dick already half hard in his jeans when he tugs on a bit of Harry’s hair, hearing him moan against Louis’ lips.

“C’mon Styles,” Louis says, kissing his chin.

Halfway up the stairs Harry squeezes Louis’ ass, the press of his palm enough to get Louis gasping into his mouth, muttering a quiet, “Asshole,” against his lips.

Harry’s room is at the end of the hallway, furthest from Anne and Robin’s, still not letting go of Louis until they’re on his bed.

Louis still feels like he knows him, hands running along Harry’s chest when he gets his shirt off. Even in the dark he can still make out the tattoos on his skin, fingers pressing anywhere he can reach. 

It’s late and Louis knows he can’t control his thoughts, not when his heart is going so fucking fast and Harry’s helping him get off his own shirt - pulling it over his head and dropping it onto the floor. Slots himself between Louis’ legs, kissing his jaw and Louis wonders if this is what being in love is.

“Do you want -” Harry trails off, sucking on Louis’ bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes out, “fuck, Harry - yes.”

There’s a bit of movement, a drawer opening, and Louis leans his head back against the pillows. Hears the sound of the bottle opening before Harry runs his finger along Louis’ hole, cold and wet, and it’s nearly enough to make him come right then and there - his cock flat against his stomach.

Harry works his finger in slowly, and Louis bites back a moan - pulling Harry back down to kiss him, a hot press of lips with a sense of urgency behind it.

Gets himself into a rhythm and all Louis can think about is how Harry’s got one hand spread across his hip, thumb pressing against Louis’ skin and putting a second finger in.

“You’re so - tight, fuck,” Harry gets out, opening him up. 

Every part of Louis feels raw and exposed, trying to grind down on Harry’s fingers. But Harry just presses his lips to Louis’ temple, tender and slow, fingers moving in a slow, circular motion and Louis thinks he might die.

“Harry -” Louis manages to get out, voice raspy.

Harry works in another finger. Louis tips his head back, feeling the burn and pleasure mixed together, his cock starting to leak precome onto his stomach. 

When Harry pulls his fingers out Louis does his best to muffle the whine he lets out in response, rocking down onto nothing now. Harry kisses his lips once, twice, and that’s when Louis hears the condom opening, Harry slicking himself up. 

When he presses into Louis he nearly sees stars, Harry catching Louis’ lower lip between his own. It takes a few times before he can press all the way in, mumbling into Louis’ ear about how tight he is, about how he’s thinking about this for weeks - months, and Louis grips his shoulders trying to keep himself as steady as he can.

“Soon -” Louis warns, fringe sticking to his forehead.

Harry’s pushing in and in and all Louis can think about is how Harry’s here, and they’re together, and then he’s coming all over his stomach, biting back a cry. It takes a minute until Harry comes, pulling out and pressing his face against Louis’ neck in what feels like a silent surrender. He pulls off, peeling off the condom and breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” Louis says, a hand in Harry’s hair and still coming down. “Harry that was - _fuck_.”

“I love it when you use my first name,” Harry jokes, breath hot against Louis’ skin.

Louis snorts, pinching his side. Harry bites down on his neck, lightly, neither of them making any effort to move. That’s for the morning, Louis decides, because he can’t he fucked to do anything else right now.

Also the fact that Harry’s still on top of him, a warm press of limbs that’s rendered Louis unable to do anything. Not that Louis is complaining, but.

Eventually, because apparently Harry is the better person, gets up and pads off to the bathroom. Returns a little while later with a wet cloth, wiping them both off best he can. 

“You’re my best friend,” Harry breaks the silence a little while later, when Louis is threading his fingers through his hair in a slow, constant motion. He’s about to drift off, eyes heavy and Harry’s lips brushing along his chest, mouthing at Louis’ skin when he says, “I love you.”

No hesitation, nothing stopping him. It’s three in the morning and Louis presses his face into Harry’s hair, breathing out. Noses along Harry’s hairline and says, “I love you too.”

And it feels right.

-

Harry burns the toast and it’s Sunday morning. 

Louis is watching him from the island, chewing on a piece of bacon and doing his best not to laugh in the sunlight coming in through the window. Harry scowls at him, taking a piece of bacon off his plate.

Anne and Robin left for the day, a note left on the counter when they’d gone downstairs in the morning. After they’d gotten up around nine thirty, Louis thought it would be a good idea to shower together - to which Harry had had no complaints. Louis jerked him off slowly, Harry panting against his shoulder and spilling come along the tiled wall, kissing Louis. 

It wasn’t until they’d left the bathroom did Louis notice the flowers, on the dresser. “Are you kidding me, Styles,” he said, picking them up.

Harry shrugged, eyes puffy and smiling. “You’re such a sap,” Louis adds, leaning forward to kiss him quick.

Right now, though, Harry’s wearing nothing but a pair of trackpants, the radio playing some top forty song Louis doesn’t know, wondering if he could ever get tired of this.

After the toast crisis Harry moves onto some eggs, scrambled, because as he’d admitted to Louis moments before - that’s the only way he can cook them. Not that Louis particularly cares, standing up and making his way over to where Harry’s standing.

“See? I’m a natural,” Harry says.

Louis snorts, kissing the back of his neck. “You’re something, alright,” he mumbles into his hair. 

The eggs don’t take long, sliding them on their plates. Feels strangely domestic, sitting across from another like they are. Louis reaches over, flicking a piece of Harry’s hair that’s long and out of place. Mocks him only to see Harry grin in response, giving up eventually - putting it into a bun, pulling on it.

“So. About last night,” Harry starts.

Louis groans, putting his hands over his face, “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s half past eleven,” Harry points out. “Never too early, in my opinion.”

Louis presses his face between Harry’s shoulder blades, feeling the warmth radiating from him. He’s humming a song, hair pulled back and Louis tries to count the freckles dotted along his skin. Wants to know how long it would take him to put to memory every part of Harry - the way his eyes light up when he remembers a story, or how he looks in the mornings - mouth parted and hair all over his face.

“There’s egg in your hair,” Louis remarks, tugging on a loose one at Harry’s neck.

Harry kisses him, slow and teasing, before Louis has any time to eat any more food. His tea is cold but Harry’s got a hand on his waist, mouth hot and Louis is so fucking gone for him.

“My internship ends at the end of August,” Harry says once they pull apart, as if he’d been working up the courage to say it.

Louis blinks. “What are you getting at.”

“Emma said she’d give me a recommendation, if I didn’t want to stay on with them, to anywhere I wanted to go.”

He’s running his fingers absently along the inside of Louis’ arm, slow and soft strokes, and adds, “There’s a place in LA - that I’d be willing to go work for.”

Louis swallows, hard. Tells himself Harry wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t real, or wasn’t something he was very seriously considering. “And do you?” Harry looks at him and Louis continues, “Want to go. Do you want to - move back there?”

Harry curls a hand around Louis’ waist, lips brushing along his forehead when he says, “Guess I better start packing, then.”

-

His flight leaves in the evening, just before seven. Which means Louis spends most of his day wishing he didn't have to leave, him and Harry sitting on the couch in the early afternoon - Louis sitting between his legs, watching whatever interested them. With Harry laughing in his hair when something made him laugh, playing with Louis’ fingers and occasionally dragging his lips across the inside of his wrist.

It’s mostly Harry cornering Louis against whatever space he can, kissing him, and Louis pulling him close and having to remind himself to breathe. With Harry’s hand on his hip, fingers pressing down lightly and Louis’ head spinning.

Anne tells Louis she’s sure she will see him soon, gripping his hands and telling him he’s welcomed anytime he wants to come by. Louis promises to take her up on that offer sometime, following Harry to his car, parked at the end of the driveway. 

They stop off for food on their way to the airport, getting burgers and milkshakes. Louis turns up the radio and Harry sings loudly, purposefully off-key and barely able to get out the words through his laughter somewhere on the highway.

“Sure you want me to get on that plane?” Louis asks, forehead against Harry’s.

“You already know the answer to that,” Harry says, voice impossibly soft.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” Louis says, Harry’s palm warm against his own.

Harry kisses him one last time, before Louis goes into the security line. And when he turns around, Harry’s still there - waving to him one last time before he goes through.

-

“It’s too much _work_.”

Louis is sitting in the middle of a rather large, unfurnished living room. All there is, presently, is a small coffee table and a pillow for him to sit on. 

“That’s not an excuse,” comes a response.

He scoffs, loudly, before stabbing a bit of chicken from his take out box. Possibly a bit more aggressively than any normal person would, but whatever. Louis is stressed.

“There’s the living room - the fucking kitchen, our room -”

“Our room?” 

“Yes, our room, Harry - don’t be a fuckwit,” Louis says sharply. Harry grins at him, his face tiny on Louis’ computer screen. 

“Wasn’t sure you wanted to share one with me. But, since you’ve asked so nicely, the answer is yes. I would love to share a room with you, Louis.”

“We might have to share a bed, while we’re at it.”

Harry gasps, putting a hand over his mouth. Louis is going to punch him, somehow, through his fucking computer screen. He misses him so much, can feel it aggressively starting to ache in his chest. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“Besides the fact that you steal all the blankets, yes,” Louis responds.

“That’s a lie,” Harry says, now frowning. “Get Liam to help you paint. Or Niall. Or both, really. Lock them in the house and go.”

“Well, when you put it that way -” Louis trails off sarcastically. 

“Do you have anything else moved in?” Harry’s next question.

Glancing around, Louis shakes his head. “Got a little table from my mom the other week. And a few pillows. Our bed, and some towels for the bathroom.”

“You’ve really got this whole ‘minimalistic living’ down to a science,” Harry deadpans.

“I’m hanging up on you now,” Louis threatens.

Harry, not clearly worried, says, “Got a call today.”

Louis pretends his heart isn't racing in his fucking chest. “And?”

He can imagine how Harry’s voice will sound in this room, echoing and deep. “It was Emma, actually. Asking if I wanted to stay on with their company, work from Los Angeles.”

It’s like a breath of relief, Louis feeling himself smiling. “That’s great, Harry.”

“Thought it wasn’t bad,” Harry adds. Louis laughs, pressing his cheek against his knees - legs tucked against his chest.

“You’ll be here in less than a week,” he says. “We can celebrate then.”

Harry’s face softens, a look Louis knows all too well, now. 

“I’m sure we can find a thing or two to do,” Louis says.

In less than a week, Harry will be here. But more importantly: Harry will be home.

\- 

As predicted, their apartment is a fucking mess. And the added of Harry’s things doesn’t exactly help, piles of clothes and other things everywhere - nothing organized, everything in a muted chaos neither of them talk about.

Louis spends most of his days under cars, doing most of his work in his father’s garage. With the usual oil stains on his skin, hot weather and a neverending list of things he has to do.

Harry, as expected since he’s working from home, spends most of his time there. Or goes out - to coffee shops, sitting there a few hours reading over stacks upon stacks of manuscripts. Louis has no idea how he’s got the patience for it, he’d lose his fucking mind after one full day of that.

But he doesn’t seem to mind. Looks to be enjoying it, for no reason Louis can fathom. By the time he goes to bed Harry’s usually still up, a light on in the living room, laying across the couch - hair pulled back and focused on what’s in front of him. One night, Louis stands in the doorway - arms crossed over his chest and watching him. 

With a crease in his brow and coffee now cold, not giving it a second thought when taking a sip. Louis takes a few steps toward him, raking his fingers through Harry’s hair slowly, carefully, as he tilts his head back in response, moaning quietly.

“You seem rather focused,” Louis tells him, leaning down just a bit to kiss forehead. 

“This one’s really good, actually,” Harry says.

Louis hums, taking the elastic out of his hair. Just before moving in, Harry made it very clear he wasn’t going to cut his hair anytime soon, and Louis had no arguments against that. 

“What’s it about?” Louis asks, moving to kneel in front of the arm of the couch. 

“Just, like. Kind of tells this story of falling in love, then losing it - then sometimes it comes back to you.” Harry pauses, turning his head up to get a look at Louis.

“Doesn’t sound too bad,” Louis says, lips pressed to the top of his head. 

Harry promises to come to bed a little while later, while Louis pads off to their bedroom. Fell asleep to the living room light still on and Harry’s hairband still around his wrist.

-

Niall and Liam, through the promise of beer and pizza, offer to come help paint. Mostly it goes with Louis not doing much at all - save for getting dots of paint all over Niall.

“Nice place you got here,” Niall comments, “too bad Louis is here, though.”

Harry laughs, soliciting Louis’ elbowing his side in response. 

There’s a lot left to do, but no one brings that up - when they’re all sitting around the table. Niall’s got half a beer in front of him, leaning his head onto Harry’s shoulder. 

“You better be nice to me, Horan,” Louis says from across the table.

Niall raises an eyebrow at Louis, laughing. “Always am.”

Harry snorts in response, just finishing his second drink. Louis shifts in his chair, knee knocking against Harry’s underneath the table. Liam’s talking with Niall - asking about work, when Louis turns to look at Harry.

He’s got his lips pressed together, smiling a bit when he hears Niall complaining from beside him. Fingers pressed lightly into Louis’ palm, absently stroking along the back of his hand, like Harry usually does when he’s thinking about something too much.

“I think if I have to sit through Niall complaining I need to be watching a movie,” Louis says, breaking the conversation between Liam and Niall.

Liam grins, Niall rolling his eyes as they get up from the table. When they step into the room Niall comments, “Surprised you’ve got more than just a couch in here.”

“Had to get it all decorated for you, didn’t we?” Louis asks.

Niall smirks, pinching his side and sits in the chair beside the couch. Liam takes the second chair, leaving Louis and Harry with the couch to themselves.

“You can sit with us, you know,” Harry says, motioning to where Louis is currently spread out.

“No they can’t,” Louis says, head in Harry’s lap.

“Wouldn’t want to sit near you two, considering the way you were holding hands at dinner,” Niall adds.

Louis scoffs, “We weren’t holding hands under the table.”

Niall turns, Liam sorting through the stack of movies in front of the television. He holds a few up, which Harry declines all of them, before continuing to look and says, “Yes you were. Didn’t even try to be subtle about it.”

“Like you and Bressie weren’t basically giving each other handjobs at dinner the other day,” Harry says, but he’s grinning.

Flushing a deep shade of red, Niall reaches over to flick his arm. “You didn’t tell me how you liked him.”

Louis watches Harry lean his head to one side of the couch behind him, “I like him. He suits you, feels like.”

“Why wasn’t I invited to this dinner?” Liam cuts them off.

“Don’t worry, Payno, neither was I,” Louis says.

“You were working,” Harry says, before giving Louis a pointed look, “and _you_ were sick.”

“I don’t get sick.” Louis says, adamant.

“That’s why your head was in a toilet for almost an entire day,” Harry says.

“We could just pick a movie,” Liam pipes up.

“Great idea, Liam,” Niall says. 

“Say, Liam. Isn’t there a movie on top the of the player already?” And, when Liam looks, sure enough - there’s a case. “I think we should watch that one. Harry didn’t get all the way through it the other night.”

“No.” Harry says firmly.

“The Notebook?” Liam asks. “Or - The Fault In Our Stars.”

“No.” Harry repeats.

“Fault In Our Stars, no question.” Niall says immediately.

“Absolutely not,” Louis argues. “Notebook. Harry cries every time.”

“Think it’s a bit concerning you like seeing him cry so much,” Liam says.

“I say neither of them. They’re too sad,” Harry says.

“What’s that other one - got Meg Ryan in it -” Niall starts.

“Thank you, Niall, you’ve just about narrowed it down for us with that -” Louis starts flatly, but then Liam’s saying, “You’ve Got Mail?”

“At least it’s not sad as fuck,” Harry says.

“Sad as fuck is reserved for really fucking sad movies, Harry, haven’t we gone over this?” Louis says, poking his chest.

“I’m putting in You’ve Got Mail,” Liam says. No one argues him.

He comes back to sit on the chair while the movie starts. Louis can feel the gentle press of Harry’s hand along his back, moving in slow - circular motions, fingers spanning long and his touch warm. 

The sun’s just about set outside and Louis’ face is pressed against Harry’s chest; he can feel the constant rise and fall of it with each breath he takes. 

-

It feels like a hundred degrees outside, the sun hot and relentless on Louis’ back, leaning against the car. 

Harry’s doing his best to figure out how one of these self car washes works, fidgeting with a hose and looking just generally lost and confused. Louis finds it a bit endearing, watching the way he bites his lower lip and looks mere seconds away from giving up entirely. 

“I don’t know why we couldn’t go through one of those one’s you drive through.”

Louis scoffs, loudly. “Because they fuck up the paint job on your car, Styles.”

Most of the day was spent at their apartment, hardly getting out of bed and only making small trips to the kitchen when absolutely necessary. Until about three in the afternoon when Louis’ mom called and invited them over for dinner. They’d gone, because Harry hadn’t seen the girls in a while and neither of them wanted to spend the time making dinner.

He can see Harry roll his eyes, but Louis doesn’t comment on it. Instead, can hear the sound of water running through the hose, Harry now directing it at his car.

Harry’s dad called, last week. Invited him out for lunch. And, to Louis’ surprise, he’d gone. Said they talked for a bit - discussed how fucked up things had been, before. “It’s not perfect,” Harry told him that night, when they’d both been lying in bed. “But it’s something, I guess.”

“You’re supposed to get the _car_ , not me -” Louis says loudly, when Harry sprays him.

“Must’ve gotten distracted,” Harry says and shrugs, winking.

“None of that,” Louis tells him, pointing a finger at him. Harry just laughs, the sound echoing in the smaller space.

It’s a bit of work, getting Harry to help him. But eventually he does, soap bubbles along the car and Louis is practically soaked all the way through his clothes. 

“Was thinking, though.” Harry breaks the silence a little while later, when Louis is up to his elbows in soap.

Blinking over at him, Louis asks, “Do I even want to know?”

“Just wondering what you would look like, washing the car in a tank top and some daisy dukes,” Harry tells him, flashing a shameless smile.

“Absolutely terrible,” Louis says, shaking his head. Takes his wet towel off the hood of the car, doing his best to hit Harry with it. “Don’t _objectify_ me, Styles!”

He’s laughing despite himself, Harry chasing after him. Manages to get his arms around Louis, pulling him close. They end up, predictably, with Louis pressed up against the driver’s side door. With Harry’s hands on his waist, gentle and warm.

Tilting his head up, Louis looks at Harry. “I’m glad you decided to come back,” he starts. Harry’s quiet, listening. “Got yourself a new internship, an overly expensive small apartment, and a very attractive boyfriend.”

Harry, raising an eyebrow, repeats, “Boyfriend?”

“We christened my car, Harry. We’re practically married now.”

Harry leans down and kisses him, the sun bright, and Louis doesn't really care that Harry still barely knows how to wash a car, as long as they've got this.

**Author's Note:**

> over on a lame blog [here](http://loueh.tumblr.com/)


End file.
